


Batman's Protector

by CopperLeaf



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Angst, Batman is a blessing, Bruce Wayne is a Dick, But I won't let that stop me, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I don't know how to write fight scenes, I mean it's Nolan Batman of course there will be angst, Irony and Secrets Galore, OC is a vigilante, Post Batman Begins, Pre Dark Knight, slow burn?, the league of shadows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperLeaf/pseuds/CopperLeaf
Summary: “Now that I am once again the head of the company, there is a large multitude of people both outside of the company and within the company who, quite literally, want me dead. Now, this isn’t a problem when I’m in my own home or here at work. If I’m killed in either one of those places, the person who did it can be tracked down much easier because security runs such a tight ship. But anywhere outside of those areas is pretty fair game for my assassination.”If I wasn’t talking to the Batman right now, I would be horrified by his nonchalance. But he and I cheat death every night, so it’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence.“So, when I make public appearances, I need to have a bodyguard. But it can’t look like I have a bodyguard, or else the people inside of the company who want to kill me will know that I know about their intentions. So, I need somebody who can protect me who blends seamlessly into my presence.”He goes quiet, but I can read the silence.That’s where I come in.





	1. Chest Plates and Gloves

I consider the fact that the Batman actively tracked me down to be a compliment. 

I consider the fact that he did so in order to give me protective armor an insult. 

He’s not quite what I was expecting. Sure, I expected him to be intimidating, and he is, but more in a caring way. There’s a difference between  _ Do what I say or else I will hurt you  _ and  _ Do what I say or else you are going to get hurt.  _ His persistence is a bit annoying though, like an angry mother hen. 

I knew that our meeting was going to happen eventually once the police issued an official statement that denied any connection with my work in the streets of Gotham. If Batman hadn’t known about me before, he certainly did now, along with the rest of the city. But Batman and I aren’t exactly kindred spirits when it comes to fighting crime. 

I focus more on being Gotham’s surface level warrior, defending girls from getting assaulted in dark alleyways, protecting families from being robbed blind in their own homes, and leaving anonymous tips to CPS when I see kids getting abused by their guardians. While Batman gets his boots sticky fighting organized crime, I make sure that the innocents are safe. The job isn’t a box to check. It’s a lifestyle.

This is a philosophy that Batman and I can agree on, that much is clear as we stand in front of each other for the first time, an inevitable meeting come to pass. 

“You’re smaller than I thought you would be.” He grunts in greeting. I can’t help but chuckle. “So are you.” It’s a blatant lie, the man is larger than any human being I’ve ever met in real life. I can tell that part of it is in the bulk of the suit and the square shape of his cape, but he’s still enormous enough to meet the formidable reputation that precedes him. I would not want to get on his bad side. 

He ignores my quip and hold out something to me in his right hand. It’s flat for the most part but bends a little in response to gravity. 

“Take it.” He commands. I raise an eyebrow at him, one of the parts of my face that can be barely seen over my cowl, though it could be partially hidden by my hood and the darkness shrouding the abandoned building we’ve met in. “What is it?” I ask, not about to eagerly snatch it out of his hands. Everyone on earth knows that Batman’s tech is top notch, but I’m too stubbornly independent to see it as a gift. Everything has a cost, especially in this city. Nothing is ever free.

“It’s a vest. Military grade silicon and kevlar blend. I’m guessing you would enjoy not getting shot in your vital organs,” he grumbles.

Despite the thinly veiled kindness of the offer, I can’t help but scoff at it. “Listen here, Dark Knight. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself with or without you. And if I get shot, it’s my own fault for not being quick enough. I can’t rely on military grade armor to keep me safe. I have to be quick enough so that they can’t catch me.” 

Unexpectedly, he takes a few long strides towards me. I nearly lose my internal balance, the urge to retreat screams at me to take a step back. But in defiance, I force myself to stand my ground and stare up into his dark eyes with as much solid peace as I can manage. 

“You may feel invincible sometimes, but no matter what you do you will always be a breakable human being underneath.” He growls, and if I were a more nervous woman I would probably be deeply intimidated by his deep voice and looming stature. I won’t deny myself of the spark of fear that remains charged under my joints. It’s one thing to be courageous in the face of danger, but it is foolish to ignore its power. 

My voice responds to him in a low tone in order to avoid letting it shake. “You should take your own advice, Bats. I saw some footage of you jumping off of a two story building last week. How’re your knees holding up?” 

He bristles at my sly attempt to be patronizing, but I don’t take it back. I have to make it clear that I am doing my work on my own terms, not his. I will not be his sidekick, I will not even be his team member. We are two separate entities with the same goal, but our methods are different enough that it can easily create discord. 

“My knees would probably be worse if it weren’t for the braces that took most of the impact. Do you see how armor can be helpful and effective?” He responds. Though he can’t see my mouth through the cloth that covers it, I give him a good snarl, my lips curling up with mild contempt. 

“Fine.” I submit, snatching the vest out of his hand. “But don’t expect me to wear it.” 

“I expect you to stay safe.” He just about orders, unexpectedly softening the razor-edge personality I’ve presented to him. “Maybe wearing it will help you stay that way. I can’t just let you run around the city in jeans and a hoodie.” And with that, he turns around and disappears into the shadows before I can get the last word. 

For a little while, I don’t wear the vest out of spite. Batman may be one of the most formidable forces in the city, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I need him. His confidence in the power of his self-asserted jurisdiction must make him think that I am his subordinate, which pisses me off to say the least. 

Then one night, as I make my way through the death trap of Gotham’s alleyways, a man wielding a switchblade comes running at me. He saw my female form strolling through the darkness and made his move without conviction of what is right and what is wrong. 

Before he can make it within swiping distance, I bend my knees and lunge forwards, my palm braced at an angle so that my wrist comes in direct contact with the underside of his nose. Immediately, blood pools out of his nostrils, the bridge of his nose shattered. A guttural scream rises from the man’s throat as he stumbles backwards, and I assume that he has been effectively neutralized. But as I take a step forward to leave the alleyway, he propels himself towards me once again. My weight is already leaning towards him, an offensive position in a moment where I need to be anything but. The hand holding the switchblade swipes upwards toward my neck, and I feebly grab his forearm with both of my hands, leaving my torso painfully exposed for him to ram a solid blow from his knee into my ribs. 

Air hisses out of my lungs in a less than graceful gasp, but I keep my composure enough to grab his leg in the crook of my elbow and slide backwards until my hold reaches his ankle. I’m taking a massive risk by letting go of the hand with the switchblade, but doing so frees my arm up to bring a compressed hit with my elbow to just above his kneecap. My entire concentrated body weight enters one specific part of his leg. The sickening  _ crack  _ of his leg breaking in two echoes against the brick walls, and he slumps on the ground, screaming as if  _ I  _ had been the one who accosted him. I left him on the ground. 

When I get home that night, the sight of a dark, mottled bruise on my ribs greets me in the mirror. Upon tentative inspection, I am relieved to conclude that they are not cracked. But the pain of the bruise is enough to force me to decide that I should not value my pride over my safety. 

The vest fits perfectly. I adopt it to my self-assigned uniform regiment. 

The next time I meet Batman, our conversation is a bit more civil. He doesn’t comment on the slight bulk of the vest underneath my consistent outfit of choice: black leggings, black boots, and a gray jacket with a pair of yellow tinged wings painted on the back. It’s a tiny sliver of fashion in the midst of an otherwise completely neutral look. A personal touch designed to set me apart as an individual with a mission rather than just another face in the crowd.  It’s what gave me my nickname,  _ The Angel of Gotham.  _ It’s a bit more dramatic than what I had been hoping for when I first started out, but I think it’s endearing. I’ll be whatever Gotham needs me to be, and if that means being their Angel, then so be it. 

“Evening, Bats.” I greet cheerily, clashing against the quiet grumpiness that he tries to put up. He’s obviously found my starting point for patrol and met me here, on top of a building that provides a good view down one of Gotham’s main streets but has a fire escape that I use to easily get down. 

He inclines his head towards me, acknowledging my greeting. “You should start at different points. You’ll get to be too predictable and then you’ll be in trouble.” He grunts. 

I smile up at him, knowing he can see my eyes crinkle more in the brighter light. “I know, but isn’t it beautiful?” I gesture to the glowing street ahead of us and turn back to get my first good look at his face in the light, his hard, piercing eyes and strong jaw. Something about him strikes me as familiar, but I decide to not let myself think about it too much. The identity of the Batman is certainly a hot topic, but I also know that it’s a dangerous one. In this case, the less I know, the better.

“We’re here to protect the beauty, not admire it for too long. And if you keep starting your patrol from the same spot, there’s potential that you won’t be able to protect it as well as I know you can.” His tone is slightly pedantic, but not exactly fathering. I decide to not resist his advice this time, instead letting his experience provide some semblance of instruction to my decision to use what I know to protect the city. 

My parents were the ones who taught me all that I know. As a young teenager, we would have family outings where we prowled the streets of San Francisco, looking for trouble in the hopes to be the ones to neutralize it. But they didn’t teach everything to me for the sake of having fun punching criminals. There is a carefully instructed power in my quick wit and fighting skills, but there is sadness in the fact that I needed them to be instilled within me from a very young age.

My parents have never tried to conceal the truth about where any of us come from, because to do so puts us all in danger. 

Since I was a little girl, I was well informed of my origins in the League of Shadows. 

Before I was born, my parents were completely devoted to the cause that the Shadows fought for, and killed in their name more times than they can now stomach. They didn’t know each other very well, but were brought together by the same revolting cause to cleanse the earth of its impurities. 

I was born to a woman who was a friend of my mom’s. My birth mother tried to hide the fact that she was pregnant, but it’s hard to conceal a baby bump under a strict uniform regimen. The leader of the Shadows, Ra’s Al Gul, was furious for her insubordination and betrayal of the Shadows’ cause. But he didn’t kill her, not right away. My father rarely spoke of this part of the story, because he knew that it would likely hurt me to dwell on it for too long. But he reminds me of it anyways so that I am reminded of the power the Shadows will never hold back. 

When I turned six months old, and I no longer required my mother to feed me, justice would finally be served for her betrayal. They had kept her alive for my sake and my sake alone. I was to be raised believing that Ra’s was my father. “It will not do to destroy something that has such powerful potential.” My father quoted from Ra’s, the words sitting wrong on my father’s kind lips.  “Thank you, sister, for giving us this parting gift.” Ra’s intoned, then took me from my mother’s arms and slit her throat. But she never fought back. Even to the end, she still believed that the Shadows were right. 

The entirety of the League of Shadows was there to witness this event and celebrate the birth of the ultimate warrior. Ra’s turned to proclaim to the crowd, “She will be untainted and raised knowing the truth. She will never make the same mistakes that her mother has made, because the truth will be written within her. A warrior to save all of humanity.” 

The rest of the warriors cheered. But my parents, two separate people, one man and one woman, saw the convulsing body of my suffocating birth mother while Ra’s held my naked form high into the air, my infant wails piercing their hearts. It was this moment that something in their heads clicked. They realized that this was  _ wrong.  _ Mothers should not be stolen from their children. Children should not be raised knowing nothing but how to destroy, not when they have so much potential to create. It was this blatant defilement of infanthood, of innocence, that made their stomachs sour at the deeds they had committed in the name of the Shadows. 

Separately, they both decided to leave and to take me with them. 

Ra’s assigned my mother, who named herself Rika, to be my primary caretaker. She was the one who kept me under a careful watch, so careful that she kept me wrapped in a sling on her back, even during training. My father, who made his name Poe, tried to smuggle me out while Rika was sleeping. Rika caught him, and almost killed him, until they talked and realized that they each were tormented by their own thoughts and actions. 

When they tell me this part of the story, they get fond looks in their eyes, both for each other and for me. Because this was the moment that set them on the right course, away from their murderous and cult controlled lifestyle and towards a life of love and prosperity. Once they joined the Shadows, they had resolved to never again live a normal life. Now they no longer believed in that murderous cause. Now that I was here, they had a reason other than themselves to run. 

So Rika and Poe ran away from the Shadows, and didn’t look back. 

They obtained false identities and made their way to America, whereupon we lived like nomads, hopping trains from state to state in an attempt to scramble our location as much as possible. The two of them fell in love and finally settled down a year later on the west coast, each of them working every odd job in between to build up their resumes and bank accounts. Eventually, Poe was able to find a solid job and Rika could stay home and raise me. I was two, and every bit as wild as my upbringing so far had made me into. And they loved me as their own. They trained me to fight, because while they couldn’t track what the Shadows were doing, they knew that the cult was not a group known for letting such offensive insubordination slide. Part of my home school regiment included yoga, boxing, and the specially made martial arts that only the Shadows were taught. It made me strong and disciplined, but not in the ways that Ra’s had intended for me. My motivations were driven by a desire to defend those I cared about, not to destroy those who opposed me. 

My parents told me the story of our origins in order to make me understand why I had to be cautious. Fighting street crime is certainly a danger, but striking against the Shadows means that they will retaliate, and they  _ will  _ annihilate.

It was obvious that we weren’t a normal family from when I was little, not by personality, but by looks. The corresponding demographics of our skin colors clashed against stereotype. The story we told the world about where I came from worked, but it still raised a lot of eyebrows.

Because while it’s all well and good for an infertile couple to adopt, it’s still not normal for two black parents to adopt a white little girl. Rika and Poe’s skin is as dark as the night that I shield myself in, while I have a complexion that is nowhere near as rich in color as theirs. Our family was easy to spot in a crowd. Even over two decades later, one look at our family would make us easy for the Shadows to be curious over. 

My family and I would often walk the streets of the west coast, waiting for trouble to catch our eyes. We never did it often enough to be identified as independent vigilantes, but it was enough to stop a few robberies and assaults. 

When I got older, my eyes were drawn to Gotham. 

San Francisco certainly has its problems, but I could see in every news headline that Gotham was poisoned with a sickness that many do-gooders had tried to purge. But it was too late. The very system that was meant to condemn criminals was being controlled by them. There was absolutely no winning, to the point that the smallest of victories in the courts received an inordinate amount of media attention. It ached my heart to see the whole city gasping for air, waiting to be put out of its misery. I considered going there myself, to become a committed fighter on the streets, but my parents immediately negated it. 

“It’s far too dangerous, Theodora!” Poe insisted, his voice firm but gentle. “Those gangsters would have a price on your head within a week, not to mention the police would be on your back.” 

Rika nodded solemnly, her eyebrows furrowing upon reading a newspaper headline declaring that Bruce Wayne had come back from the dead, ready to reclaim his throne as the economic Prince of Gotham. 

“Nobility aside my Theo, vigilantes are condemned for a reason. It’s dangerous work.” My mother affirms, her tone sharper than her husband’s but never intentionally pedantic. 

The trouble is, I know they are right. I just don’t want them to be. 

A couple months later, the Batman emerged. 

On my side of the country, the news surrounding him wasn’t as charged and constant. But I was zeroed in on every detail, obsessed with his every move. He started out as more of a legend, and the general speculations surrounding him were interesting, but not nearly as impactful as what I was hoping for in him. Some believed “The Batman” had to be a group of people that all came together to form a common symbol of hope. Others theorized that Batman was the government’s top secret plan to try and scare away some of the criminals in order to let Gotham breathe. 

But I hoped for the simplest answer. The Batman was a single man who woke up one day and decided that he didn’t want Gotham to rot anymore. So he makes a character, a creature of the night, and uses it to give the people hope that Gotham doesn’t have to be their graveyard. It can be their garden. 

After Batman captured Falconi, the city’s most elusive gangster, the city’s crime rate tapered off in record breaking numbers. Criminals were getting superstitious. 

The news coverage of what happened next was spotty at best. Nobody could give one clear coherent story. Everyone who had witnessed it was drugged against their will by something in the air, causing their memories to be blank in all the spots that mattered. 

There was one unifying consensus amongst the confusing stories and the lack of evidence.

The Batman had been at the center of the chaos, and he was the one who prevented the worst from occurring. 

My wonderment at Batman’s heroism was what made me realize that ironically, he has made Gotham into the safest place to be a vigilante. 

Batman already chose to wrestle with the big guys that nobody else would ever dare to touch. He made that dangerous decision of his own volition, and he’s held his own fantastically well so far. He’s the hero against the big bads, which gives me the opportunity to go after all of the generic Criminal Joes. The target on my back would always be smaller than that of Batman’s. 

It wouldn’t be safe, but it wouldn’t be suicide. 

I presented my plan to my parents. I applied to as many places in Gotham that would provide me with a sustainable income, creating credentials out of my community college associate’s degree and my experience in jobs that no one else would take. To support my family, I leapt into the workforce at sixteen, balancing homeschool and kitchen jobs. When I got older, it turned into running coffee to chattering conference rooms, picking up on business and economic lingo along the way. Now that I wanted to go to Gotham, I figured that knowledge could be put to good use. 

I showed my parents the subtlety of my outfit, enough to be recognized but enough to blend in. 

Of course, they were reluctant. Nobody wants to encourage their child to run off into the grinning mouth of the night. Especially when they used to  _ be  _ the night. They know the evil that the world is capable of because they used to be its main contenders. But at the same time, they know that I’m more capable than most. And they could see that this wasn’t something I was going to let go of. 

So I moved to Gotham and set out looking for trouble with the tortured streets of Gotham while hiding from the formidable force of the League of Shadows. 

Standing here with Batman, though I miss my parents and the love we have for each other, I decide that it’s all worth it. The Shadows wanted to make me into their Messiah. Ra’s wanted to make me into his successor. But here I am, a completely different path. 

I spare one last look at Batman’s eerily familiar face, silently thanking him for the inspiration that he gave my life. He gives me no further acknowledgement, so I wordlessly start down the fire escape, ready to start my patrol for the night. Surprisingly, Batman’s heavy steps clatter on the grates behind me, and once I reach the concrete below, I turn back to him in question. 

“You need something?” I ask. His mouth suddenly curls into a smirk, and before I can react, he’s shoved something into my hands and is being pulled back up to the top of the building by a cable I hadn’t seen before. I look down at what he gave me. It’s a pair of fingerless gloves, made out of a stretchy and breathable fabric, but has a material that’s as hard as a rock over the knuckles.

I scoff, but I put them on, stretching out my fingers and then curling them against my palms to get used to the feeling. 

“I’m guessing they’re military grade.” I mumble to myself, then set off, jogging into the night.


	2. A Revelation

Garish sunlight reflects off of the sparkling windows of Wayne Tower, the crown jewel of the Gotham skyline. The sight is enough to make me squint as I weave my way through the busiest area in the entire city. 

Upon entering Wayne tower, the crowd barely thins. This building is a constant bustle of information, the slightest lowering of points in the stock exchange sends everyone into a frenzy. Unfortunately, the overwhelming din never subsides until closing time, not even on the days when the stocks are soaring. 

I had to quickly familiarize myself with economic lingo when I got this job, as that side of the business is essential to understanding the side that I work in. 

I work in the media department for Wayne Enterprises, which means that I write up articles on the technology the company is putting out and the effects it has on the world. Some days are better than others. One day, I am able to gleefully expound upon how Wayne-made automated drones stationed in the depths of the Serengeti helped easily identify and convict numerous elephant poachers, but then other days I recount the mind numbing details of the company’s standing in the stock exchange. I take information and data and make it into something consumable by the general public. 

My team doesn’t socialize too much, as we all often stick to our individual projects, but it’s a small enough group that I am greeted with a few polite waves and warm smiles as I enter into our office on the seventh floor. It’s quieter here, the solid walls shielding us from the cacophony outside. 

I arrive at my desk and start to get myself situated, while my friend and coworker Jane is staring at her computer with an expression of open-mouthed shock. I raise an eyebrow at her, but do not comment or question just yet. Jane has always been one to process things inwardly, not outwardly. 

She sees my questioning expression and turns her monitor to face me, the screen displaying an email from someone in a higher up position outside of our department. Apparently this is important enough for her to share. 

_ Greetings Wayne Enterprises staff, _

_ If you are receiving this email, we wish to inform you that Mr. Bruce Wayne will be visiting your department this afternoon. He has expressed a desire to re-familiarize himself with his staff and company, as he knows his absence has estranged him from his own work. Please do not be alarmed by his presence, this visit is strictly business casual and will not warrant criticism for any individual or team.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ Lucius Fox.  _

The message is short and to the point, much like Mr. Fox himself. He sometimes sends out staff-wide messages like this, but they’re usually to wish everyone well on a holiday or to congratulate on a job well done. A message like this is slightly out of character, though Bruce Wayne has a reputation for shaking things up. 

Jane looks a little shell shocked, so I place a hand on her shoulder. 

“How long ago did he send this out?” I ask, looking around the office to see that everyone else is just discovering the message for the first time. 

“Just a couple minutes ago. He couldn’t have told us last night? I would have straightened my hair,” Jane sighs, her hands going up to fuss with her head of thick curls. I immediately swat her away, rolling my eyes. “Jane, I like your hair natural. You look fine. And, really, you wouldn’t have slept last night if Fox sent out that email at closing time. He was doing you a favor.” 

Jane scoffs and yanks her monitor back to face her. “Well,  _ Bruce Wayne  _ certainly isn’t doing us any favors. He’s been the head of the company for nearly three months and  _ now  _ he’s coming for a visit?” 

Her tone is bitter, but I know it’s only coming from a place of shock. Bruce Wayne is hardly even talked about around here, despite how many times his name passes by us every single day. None of us even think much about the intricacies of the company we work for, we just do our jobs. But regardless, he’s still something of a legend, a Greek tragedy. To know that he witnessed the murder of his parents at such a young age is enough to pull on anybody’s heartstrings. 

For me, it affirms why I set out on the streets every night. Nobody in this city, not even the best and the highest, is safe from the way that the degeneracy tears. 

“He’s just going to pass through, shake some hands, kiss some babies. Nothing to get worked up about. He’s just another guy,” I try to assure her, though a part of me barely even believes my own words. Nothing about the man is predictable. 

Jane doesn’t respond, her thoughts retreated back into the comfortable space of her own head. 

I try not to dwell on Mr. Wayne’s visit too much as a pull together an article about the flashdrive Wayne Enterprises is working on. It looks like a flashdrive, but it functions as a processor that rivals the power of even the newest laptops. Unfortunately, the thing keeps overwhelming every computer that it is plugged into, causing the entire system to overheat, crash, and sometimes not wake up. 

I’m saving this information to pull on for later, when the technology is finished. I can showcase the long road to complete the project, and potentially quell any consumer nerves about purchasing a processor that would melt their computer. Of course, the report has been a bit of a long game, and I’ve even had to venture down to the Computer Sciences department to wrangle the data out of them so I can keep a personal record of any failures and successes.

As the announcement from Mr. Fox never contained any specific time, everyone in the office becomes jumpy after the clock passes noon. Every time the door clicks open, everyone’s eyes frantically look to see who came in. I’m disappointed every time. I just want it to be over with so that everyone can stop being so on edge. The nervous energy in the room is making my hair stand on end.

A little after one, I take a much needed break from the office to retrieve my lunch from the break room. Every other floor of the building has one, so it’s never overly crowded. I retrieve my lunch bag from the fridge and am about to sit down at the table when a large group of people from a different department comes in, loudly chattering and disrupting my peace. I roll my eyes with a sigh and head back towards my office, annoyed that I can’t seem to detach myself from my irrationally terrified co-workers. 

I’m distracted by my irritation, my eyes narrowed and trained downward during my walk back to the office. 

But once I enter the door, I realize why everyone had been so nervous.

Bruce Wayne is standing ten feet away, his back turned to me while he is talking to the gathered group of my enthralled co-workers. 

The sound of the door thudding closed behind me attracts the temporary attention of my co-workers, their eyes glancing my way then back to Mr. Wayne. 

He stops talking, and to my horror, turns to look me in the eyes, placing me on a stage I didn’t want to perform on. 

He’s immensely tall, ridiculously handsome, and inordinately intimidating. It’s a good thing that I know how to stand my ground in more ways than one, or I would probably shrink under his gaze.

Instead, I hold his eyes as intensely as he’s holding mine and stick out my chin. 

“You’re late.” He remarks, his humorous tone causing a few nervous chuckles to litter the room. 

I smile, though I want to raise my eyebrows in a challenge. I remind myself that he may be big, but I could beat him in a fight. 

“It’s hard to be late to an event that had no assigned time. Maybe you should make your schedule more clear.” While I am also adopting his humorous tone, I’m trying to knock him down a peg. Try to call me out in front of my colleagues, you get a verbal lashing. 

He steps closer. I bite my tongue. 

“What’s your name? He asks, his face observant. 

“Theodora, sir. It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it, his fingers coming to brush over my knuckles, which are covered in scabs and rough skin. As I watch his face, I see him noticing the injuries under his touch, feel him rub them for assessment. Why he would care is beyond me, but I find the subtlety of his deep interest in it interesting nonetheless. 

I pry myself away a bit, and he lets go, suddenly remembering that there’s a whole room of people watching the two of us. 

A flashing smile returns to his face. “Well Theodora, I suppose you’re right. You can’t be late for something that didn’t have a clear plan. Hopefully you can catch up anyways.” 

I nod and step to the side, released from the stage. 

He continues to speak, talking about how much he values our department and how he’s excited to see what we continue to do moving forward, but I’m barely listening. I’m studying him.

The more I watch his charm, the more I see that this personality is a carefully crafted facade. Of course, as one of the most powerful men in the world, he has to keep up an appearance and reputation. But this is beyond practiced.

He’s trying to manipulate his audience to see him a certain way. 

It’s rather down-to earth for the head of a multi-billion dollar company to come down to say hello to his employees. From what I know about Wayne family history, it’s exactly something that his father would have done. A kind and gentle man who genuinely cares. 

But that’s not what he wants people to see him as, because the moment I walk in and momentarily interrupt, he immediately tries to set me in a place that’s lower than he is. His calling me out wasn’t a welcome. It was a diluted jeer, heavily veiled behind deflective humor. 

The two actions directly contradict each other. It’s not like he was forced to come down here, because he is his own boss. So if he wants to look good but then does something that conveys the exact opposite, what is his  _ real  _ motive for being here?

Is he looking for something? A crack in his system, an uprising amongst his own employees?

Or is he looking for someone? A person who could be a benefactor, or an adversary. Why seek them out here?

Everyone in the room suddenly laughs, as if he had told a legitimately funny joke. The sound pulls my headspace back into the present, and my focus returns to study him, to see if I can glean what he’s looking for without having to even ask. 

“And that’s why your group in particular is so important to Wayne Enterprises. You make us visible to the outside world in a way that other companies aren’t able to achieve. You help us be transparent about the things our technology is accomplishing, which gives our consumers the warm fuzzy feelings we want them to feel about seeing technology create progress for good,” he continues, his affirmation having its intended effect on my blushing associates. 

Then I catch it. A second repeated glance. Then a third. Then a fourth, in my direction, every time. 

The direction of his gaze can only be intentional. He’s looking at everything about me, from my face to my feet, but I don’t get the impression that he’s checking me out. He’s avoiding my eyes, trying to make it apparent that he’s not interested in me even though he clearly is. 

I think back to the way that he noticed the scabs on my knuckles. Usually when people ask about them, I’m able to brush it off as one clumsy incident that turned into a bad habit of picking my wounds. But another glance towards where my hands are clasped in front of me once again exemplifies his fixation on a detail that few people pay attention to. They have no reason to be suspicious of me being any sort of crime fighting hero, let alone the Angel of Gotham. 

Unless they’ve met me before while I’m donning the cowl. 

My whole body clams up in fear as if I’m being slowly lowered into cold water. He  _ recognizes  _ me, and he’s trying to confirm his suspicions. 

My mind runs wild trying to remember where I’ve seen him before, but everything comes up blank. I would have remembered his face if I fought him, and I sparingly interact with the people I save. We exchange very few words, if any at all. The only person the Angel has ever really talked to is-

And then it hits me all at once. 

The tech. The seven year disappearance. Hell, the  _ motivation.  _ It all makes sense, and as I study Bruce’s features, his hard jawline, looming stature, and piercing eyes, I see my caped acquaintance, the Batman.  

I almost start crying, because it’s not like I  _ wanted  _ to know this. This is a heavy burden to bear, to stop seeing the Batman as a symbol of hope in exchange for a broken man. Now it’s impossible for me to look at one of them without seeing the other.  _ Bruce Wayne  _ gave me that protective armor.  _ Batman  _ is talking to my co-workers about his plans for the company’s future. 

I have to fight to keep my face placid. If Bruce is as clever as I know the Batman to be, he would notice that something was wrong with me at the twitch of an eyelid. 

He’s still looking at me, and now I know why. He’s realized the same thing about me that I’ve recognized in him. 

He’s stopped talking, and everyone is politely applauding as he waves goodbye and heads back towards the door. I stay rooted in my spot, half wanting to follow and cut the tension that’s building in my bones. But when he turns around again and catches my eyes for half a second, I turn on my heel and return to my desk, adrenaline pumping through me in a way that I ironically rarely experience. 

 

Jane settles down in front of me and turns towards me, about to make some snarky comment until she notices that something is off and frowns. “Theo? You okay?” She asks, and I mutely smile and nod. “Gave me a bit more of a shock than I realized I would have, I guess. He’s way more intimidating than I expected.” Jane seems satisfied with this answer. “I get it. It’s not every day you get to see Gotham’s most pompous asshole in person. The way he tried to humiliate you in front of your own team!” 

I laugh, though in my own ears it sounds hollow. “I’ve survived worse verbal lashings.” 

Jane nods, then turns away, once again leaving me to my own thoughts. Not a bit of me can believe what she just said anymore. If Bruce Wayne is Batman, then everything about him that makes him into what the world knows him to be is a blatant, carefully crafted lie. Pompous assholes don’t risk their lives defending the city every other night. Pompous assholes don’t give out military grade protective gear to a girl who covers her face and knows how to throw a punch. 

I get to work, trying to throw myself into analyzing data and writing a digestible report on it in order to distract myself from this new, haunting revelation. 

When I get home, I call my mom. She picks up on the third ring.

“Sweetheart, how are you?” She chirps, cheerful enough to make my emotions spill over my carefully crafted walls. But I know that I can’t speak freely. There is no guarantee that the line is completely secure. Anybody could be listening, for whatever reason. This is too dangerous a topic to toy with. 

Through a croaky throat, I begin to try to explain. “Tread lightly,” I instruct first, my family’s code for when we need to stay hidden. In this case, my mom knows that it means to play along. 

“You know the guy who inspired me to come here?” I ask slowly, trying to choose my words carefully. My mom matches my low tone, understanding that there’s a serious topic at hand. “Yes. What about him?” 

“I found out who he really is today. And I think he found out who I really am. I didn’t want to know. And I don’t know what to do.”

She lets out a long breath, something she’s always done to calm her down and help her focus. Ra’s taught it to her so she could stop focusing on her fury and start focusing on killing her enemy, but she kept the skill to help herself meditate to alleviate her anxiety. You don’t escape from an elitist cult without some invisible scars. 

“Honey, listen to me. You can’t let him know that you know. If the two of you team up, the target on him extends to you. He may mean well, but you know who else is watching.” 

I nod, even though she’s not here to see it. 

“Okay. Please tell dad. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

We both hang up. A call like that has to be short. 

I cry until my head starts to hurt and the sun sets below the horizon. 

Once the night darkens, I lay out my uniform on my bed and stare at it, trying to decide whether or not to put it on. My fear of meeting a certain Caped Crusader is almost enough to persuade me to take a night in. But sitting here with my writhing thoughts, I decide that facing my fears is better than letting them haunt me. 

As per Batman’s instruction, I switch up my starting point, instead choosing an alleyway to loop back to when I’m done. It helps keep me oriented and conserves my energy so I don’t cross into the same areas twice if I don’t need to.

Tonight, I’m sneaking around the orange streetlights of the eastern side of Gotham. The community here is centered and driven by the ports, so there’s plenty of people here who are just stopping by before they continue on to wherever else they are headed to. Therefore, there’s plenty of hotels and bars in the area, catering to the diverse array of crewmen looking for a moment of rest. 

Most nights, this area is peaceful. If anybody has too much to drink, they crash in a nearby hotel and leave by boat in the morning. That’s probably why I’m here. I’m trying to avoid the Batman by going to a place that wouldn’t be worth his time. 

After an hour of looking for trouble, I find a girl passed out on a curb. I worriedly rush over to her, believing that she’s hurt, but her breath is steady and even. The smell of liquor falls off of her, proving that she’s just drunk. I fish her wallet out of her purse to find her address on her ID, relieved to see that she lives just a couple blocks away in an apartment building right along the coast line.

Carefully, I hoist her into my arms and carry her over my left shoulder, keeping the weighted tension in my hips and legs. I keep myself in the darkness, but the people walking by don’t pay me any mind anyways. 

This is the part of the job that isn’t nearly as exciting as punching people until they realize the error in their ways, but it’s equally important. The girl over my shoulder is dead unconscious, and there’s no telling what would have happened to her if I hadn’t found her. It’s the little things, protecting the individual people, that will ultimately keep Gotham safe. 

Once I reach the building she lives in, I shift her weight so my left arm is holding her up, leaving my right hand free to open the door to the building. Once I enter, I find her name on the apartment directory and head straight for the elevator, stealing another glance at her ID to get her room number. On the way up, I fish through her purse more until I find her keys, then carry her through the hallway to her room, giving the door a little push once it’s unlocked to let us in. The sound of the impact makes her stir, and when she momentarily regains her consciousness she begins to panic until I set her down on the couch in her living area. 

“It’s okay. I’m here to help you. You’re home safe.” I reassure her in a whisper to conceal my voice. She’s still disoriented and scared, so I find a cup in the kitchen and fill it with water from the tap. When I go back and hold the cup to her lips, she drinks it, her eyes finally coming to focus on me kneeling in front of her. 

She leans back in the chair, relaxed but very drunk and very sleepy. 

“You’re that girl they talk about. The new Batman.” She slurs, and I would have been offended by the association if it weren’t for her trashed state. 

“Yes , I am. And I’m here to help. Go to sleep now, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning.” She nods and her eyes slip closed, almost immediately passed out.

I relax and turn to leave, locking the door behind me. 

On my way back out, I wonder if I should stick around this area if there’s more people strewn incontenent on the sidewalk. The night is still relatively young, perhaps even too early for the crazies to start coming out yet. 

But then all my plans for the night come to a halt, because I spot the one man I’ve been praying to avoid. 

Batman is firmly pressed into the shadows across the street, watching me with the same intent scrutiny that Bruce Wayne had placed me under earlier today. I’m not sure if he was intending for me to notice him, and there’s really no telling how long he’s been peeking over my shoulder, but I’ve been staring at him for long enough that he knows his position is compromised. 

He steps forwards a little, the orange light bathing his dark figure in a hellish glow. 

I want to run away. I didn’t want this entanglement, I never wished to know the truth of Gotham’s darkest secret. I just wanted to live a life that would bear the burdens that others could not carry. 

But I still find myself walking towards him on unwilling legs, something within me piloting my body in the direction it does not want to travel. 

He sees me approach and melts back into the darkness, the two of us shrouded from sight. I can only imagine what he has to say to me. 

“What is it now?” I murmur. “Knee pads?” 

Once again unphased by my lack of recognition to his authority, he steps even closer into my personal space. With his face this near to me, I can’t help but kick myself for not seeing it sooner. This man was most certainly Bruce Wayne, whether I liked it or not. 

He’s looking down at me with something strange in his expression, and it isn’t until I see the curl of his smile that I realize that it’s  _ pride.  _ Batman- _ Bruce Wayne  _ was proud of me?

“You really are just trying to be the helper of the everyman, aren’t you?” He rumbles, and in my fear of an uncomfortable exchange I am struck by the question. 

“Well, yeah. There’s a lot of bad stuff that happens around here without the mob getting involved. I just want to help out with the surface level stuff. It might not be an organized crime syndicate, but even if I keep just one girl from getting raped, then I’ve done my job.” 

If it’s possible, his smile curls even more until it’s uncomfortably  _ fond.  _ I scrunch up my nose. “Ew, don’t do that. That’s no good. It doesn’t work with the mask.” He lets out a short breath of a chuckle through his nose, but sure enough the smile falls away into his usual placid expression. 

He’s so  _ genuine  _ in this moment. Not a monster, not a myth. Just a man wearing a mask, in search of doing some good. It relaxes my tightly coiled muscles, my assumptions of the worst dissipated. 

My curiosity about discovering more about the man underneath overcomes my fear of the ramifications of his identity, so I press the conversation. 

“But why does helping the everyman matter to you? You get your gloves dirty with the big stuff. You put away the bad guys who tried to poison the water supply with fear gas.”

Batman shakes his head. “Angel, that’s why you helping the everyman matters to me.” He doesn’t seem phased about using my vigilante nickname, but it causes me to reel. Nobody has ever called me that to my face before. I’d never considered the ethereal implications until this moment.

“I am trying to take down mob bosses and sex traffickers and money launderers. That doesn’t leave much time to directly protect the innocents. That’s where you come in, and it’s helping me sleep a little better at night. I just wanted to say thank you. You understand what I’m trying to do here,” he explains. 

His thanks combined with my knowledge of who is under the mask nearly makes me drop my jaw on the floor. I think about saying thank you in return, about mentioning not wanting any kids to have to watch their parents die, but the thought is immediately dismissed. The moment I reveal to him that I know who he is, this tentative friendship will dissolve into dust. Not to mention my mother’s outright demand to not align myself with him, especially so soon. 

So instead, I insert another distracting quip to change the subject away from myself. “Well, sure Bats, you’re welcome. But how do you sleep at night when you spend all your nighttime hours stalking the city?”

I expect him to scowl and ignore me, but he just shakes his head and turns away. 

“Go get some rest.” He instructs over his shoulder. “I’ll take the next watch.” 

Had he not been so open with me, I probably would have argued. But for tonight, I’ll let him be Gotham’s original protector. A man who rose up to become more than that. I’ll let him be the Batman, the most selfless creature in the entire city, and I’ll go to sleep knowing that it’s safe.


	3. The Rose

There is a rose sitting on my desk. It is not in a vase, its thorns are not even clipped off, but it looks freshly picked. Not from a grocery store bouquet, but from an actual rose bush.

I pick it up and hesitantly smell it, but there’s no trace of anything inherently sinister about it. 

It briefly crosses my mind that it could be a gift from a secret admirer, but I don’t let myself dwell on that too much either. Even if it was, I wouldn’t allow them the opportunity to get anywhere close to me. Underneath the immaculate hair and makeup that I meticulously arrange, I am still the would-be-heir to the League of Shadows, and I still stalk the streets of Gotham hoping to get into a fight. No amount of beauty that I use to hide who I am can make that go away. 

It can sometimes be tiring to make my entire work life into something of an act. Pretending I’m just the local beautiful writer for Wayne Industries with a pretty smile and carefully curled hair can get a little old, but it’s the best act I have. Naievity, if played right, can be the perfect alibi. And I play it well enough that I sometimes believe it. 

Nearby the rose sits a more inconspicuous box, made out of a brown cardboard material. It’s simplicity poorly prepares me for what I find inside.

It’s a necklace with a single diamond charm, and I assume it to be zirconium until I read the folded note underneath it. 

It’s only two letters, but it’s enough to make my persona crack as I let out a low, whimpering gasp.

_ -B.W.  _

He’s figured out who I am. He’s had to. He wouldn’t have even looked in my direction otherwise. 

Behind me, my coworkers begin to file in, chatting idly, but I feel like my head is underwater so I can barely hear them. Even still, their presence forces me to act.

Before anybody can notice, I swiftly sit and toss the jewelry box into my desk drawer, hiding the earrings from anyone who would care to see. If anyone saw that Bruce Wayne gave me jewelry, it would raise the question,  _ why?  _ Honestly, it’s not a question I am equipped to answer. I must have hidden the box in just the nick of time as Jane sits down in front of me with a sigh. She notices my expression and immediately turns worried. “Theo, are you alright? You don’t look well.” I spare he a glance and a sickly smile. “I’m alright Jane… I just don’t feel too well.” Immediately, she reaches out to console me and grabs my hand. “It’s alright, love. You can go home if you really need to.” 

I shake my head, knowing that it would be unwise to run scared. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I think I just need a moment to collect myself.” She nods in agreement and I close my eyes, trying to focus my mind on the problem at hand. 

Bruce Wayne knows who I am. This is the only logical reason he would reach out to me like this. But he must not know that I know that he is the Batman. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of being cryptic when he can just approach me on the streets like he did last night. So, the question raised is: What does Bruce Wayne need with the Angel of Gotham that Batman cannot provide?

Apparently, that’s for him to answer. In the meantime, I have to look naive. If I don’t reveal that I know he’s that Batman, there may be things I can learn about Bruce Wayne from the Batman that I wouldn’t be able to otherwise discern. My mother’s warning echoes in the back of my mind. All I want to do right now is call her. 

The whole rest of the day, paranoia overcomes my inner countenance. Every corner could be hiding Bruce Wayne, one glance up from my computer could reveal him staring back at me. As I leave the office for the day, I half expect him to approach me on the way out. But I make it back to my apartment without incident. 

I go on patrol again. I have to make sure it doesn’t look like I’m scared of meeting the Batman and Bruce Wayne. He’d find me out almost immediately if I was scared to talk to the Batman. 

But that night, I don’t cross paths with the Dark Knight. In fact, I haven’t seen him for a couple weeks now. 

_ A pity.  _ I think to myself as I deftly incapacitate a lanky man who had tried to rush me with a switchblade.  _ I was hoping to get some new shin guards.  _

The following morning, I get in early, knowing that there will be some other gift sitting on my desk. I’ve never been so frustrated to be right. 

There’s another box on my desk, and I resent its existence. 

For a moment, I contemplate not even opening it. But I reconsider. It wouldn’t be good to scorn Batman’s gifts twice. He might try to give me more.

I carefully remove the lid, peeking into it like it might bite me. It doesn’t, but the alternative isn’t much better. 

It’s a pair of earrings that perfectly matches the necklace. A single sparkling diamond hangs from each of the gold chains. There is a larger, folded note underneath it, a straight crease pressed into the pristine stationery. I open the note with my thumb and forefinger, as if it burns to touch it. I have to take a deep breath to stop myself from biting off my tongue. 

_ Lunch. 12:30. My treat. I’ll pick you up. _

_ -B.W. _

The message is as concise as it could possibly be, and yet I feel like it’s layered with a hundred different meanings. 

The main one being,  _ We need to talk. Don’t try to get out of it, because I will find you.  _

I consider running out and taking a sick day. But it would just be putting off the inevitable. This is not the kind of man who gives up easily. 

So I dig the necklace out of my drawer and put it on as a way of accepting the challenge, sit down, and get to work. 

I take a tylenol to drive away the nausea that overcomes me, and I have to cover the clock on my computer with a sticky note so I stop staring at the time. Jane can tell that there’s something off about me, and fusses that I might have a fever, but I wave her away and force myself to wade through data as a distraction. 

Around noon, Jane asks me if I want to join her to get some lunch. I decide against it and politely decline. It would probably be better for Bruce to “pick me up” while I am in the relative safety of my own office than in the company cafeteria. 

Jane leaves, as do a large amount of my coworkers, so there’s very few people here to witness anything happen. It doesn’t stop my heart from racing out of my chest, so I decide to devise my plan of action. 

In order to conceal that I am aware of his night time activities, I will use my usual act of being a normal, oblivious human being. However, I must not act like I am scared. I intentionally wore my tallest heels today, just for the sake of being able to meet Bruce’s eyes if I were to run into him. I may be intimidated, but I’m not about to let him think that he can therefore control me. I don’t plan on giving Batman that impression. The policy extends. 

The door to our office opens just as I peel away the sticky note on my computer. 12:30 on the dot. I take one, final, shuddering breath, and look up. 

There he is, dressed in an immaculate suit, tailor made to expertly conceal the power that I know lies underneath that tie. While I am tensed and coiled, he is completely relaxed, his hands swinging freely at his sides as he approaches me. Our eyes meet, and he smiles, running a hand through his dark hair as I get up to meet him. 

I get a small kick of satisfaction when I register that I am almost as tall as him in these heels, and the memory of our first interaction is what brings a genuine smile to my face. 

_ You’re smaller than I thought you would be. _

_ So are you.  _

“Theodora!” He exclaims, his tone suave and easy. I wonder if he ever gets a sore throat from all the growling he does to conceal his voice. “Hello, Mr. Wayne.” I greet in response, a blush coloring my cheeks, my hand going to tuck my hair behind my ear. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I hold my right hand out to shake, but he refocuses his intentions by curling his fingers underneath my palm and bringing the back of my hand up to his lips. I know he’s probably taking my pulse, so we both know that my heart is racing. 

When he releases my hand, I let it fall back to my side and clasp both of my hands in front of me, posing demurely but keeping my shoulders square and professional. 

“I was just wondering if I could take you out to lunch. I hope you haven’t been able to attend the Wayne restaurant upstairs yet.” His eyes are flickering over my face, trying to memorize my expression so that he can learn how to read all of my emotions through my eyes. I am doing the same thing to him. We both know the reason why, and neither one of us are going to admit it. 

“I cannot say I’ve been able to visit there yet. The opportunity has never presented itself.” I respond, keeping my voice light but quiet and small. It’s not the brash snark that he’s used to, and I hope it confuses him. 

His face breaks into a smile, and even though it is made by the same mouth that was smiling at me the other night, it does not carry the same emotion. Batman’s smile had been emotionally genuine, and while there are elements of it present, it’s now too broad to be the same. Strangely, I begin to miss Batman, even though he is standing right in front of me. 

“Excellent. We can head up to my office and they’ll bring it up to us from there.” The statement makes my internal balance wobble a bit. Being alone with him in a closed room is not my idea of a good time, though I’m sure there are plenty of other women who would think quite the opposite. 

Regardless, my feet follow him as he turns and leads me out of the office, his fingers brushing the inside of my forearm as a way of beckoning me to follow. I catch the eyes of a few of my remaining coworkers, and they’re staring at me like I grew a second head. I just shake my head and shrug, hoping that the gossip that will inevitably be passed around won’t be too scathing. 

Once we’re in the main lobby, I begin to understand what a zoo animal feels like. Everyone that we pass by stares at us and whisper to each other something indiscernible. It certainly doesn’t help when Bruce falls into step at my side, his hand ghosting over my lower back to usher me forward. 

I imagine myself freely scowling at Batman and getting the same neutral expression in return. That would be preferable to the current situation. Getting to express my frustration freely and getting no response was better than not being able to express my frustration at all. 

We reach an elevator that everyone on my level of practice is strictly forbidden to use, and the doors slide open with a  _ ding!  _ Bruce leads us in, and when I turn around to catch one last glance at the lobby, it feels like the closing elevator doors resemble the closing lid to my own coffin. 

I nervously look down at my feet, though internally I’m feeling the snark of the Angel of Gotham welling up inside of me against the Batman’s unshakeable stubbornness. It’s easier to return to the act when Bruce speaks to me again.

“I’m sorry for calling you out in front of your office the other day. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He casually remarks, though the apology is genuine. 

I shrug and turn my head to look him straight in the eyes. “You didn’t mean anything by it. It was a little insensitive, but I know you’re just trying to have your employees look at you as more of a co-worker than a terrifying boss. Key word:  _ try. _ ” 

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, I suppose I still have some work to do in my journey to appear down to earth.” 

There’s the humility again. 

The elevator slides to a stop, and the doors open smoothly, revealing a much smaller lobby that leads to a single pair of frosted glass french doors on the other side of the room. I half expect to see a receptionist sitting there, but there is none, not even a desk for one to sit at. We are completely alone.

I try to not let this though panic me too much. I’ve been alone with Batman plenty of times. However, Batman is a concise human being, his goals and intentions are the only part of him that are laid out in broad daylight. Bruce Wayne is a manipulative businessman by trade. Same person, wildly different character. 

The two of us step out of the elevator, Bruce’s hand now dropped away from my back. He opens one of the french doors and motions for me to enter. “After you.” He drawls, and I grant him a smile and walk inside. 

It’s pretty much exactly what I expected his office to look like. Floor to ceiling glass windows line the walls, providing an excellent view of the city below. His desk is lined up perfectly with the middle of the room, the chair facing towards the entrance, but there isn’t anything on the desk. In fact, it looks utterly unused. To my right, there’s a black leather sofa, and he walks toward it, a backwards glance over his shoulder once again inviting me to follow. I hesitantly obey, but keep my eyes trained on the view of the city so that when I sit down, I have an excuse to not look directly at him. 

He’s quiet for a long time, watching me as I observe the glint of the summer sun on the cars below. Then, suddenly, he reaches out and trails the back of his finger over my collarbone, gently lifting the gold chain from the necklace he gave me. The intimate touch startles me, but I know better than to jump, so I snap my eyes to look at him. 

He must recognize the fire in my expression, because he casually pulls away instead of leaning in further. 

“You’re wearing the necklace I got you.” He comments idly, as if it didn’t cost thousands of dollars and was given to a relative stranger. At least, on  _ this _ side of the masks we are strangers. 

“I am. Thank you. And thank you for the earrings.” I respond cheerfully. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming my face and collarbone. “It looks beautiful on you.” He comments breathily, and for the first time my carefully perched countenance slips. Even though I had been determined to not let myself be manipulated by him, even though I was committed to playing this act all the way through until it was no longer of use, even though I had sworn to not let him charm me, that one simple sentence was enough to make me blush for real. 

When he raises his hand again to run his fingers through my hair, for a moment I don’t stop him. For a single snapshot in time, I imagine that this is real, that he actually likes me and wants to be with me, that his advances are genuine, that this could maybe work. 

But then I remember that there is something about the Angel of Gotham that Bruce Wayne needs, and he is a manipulative businessman with a long history of being a playboy. 

He doesn’t like me. He likes what I can do for him. 

With the faintest of sighs, I tightly catch his wrist in my hand, extracting his intoxicating touch from the side of my face.

“Mr. Wayne.” I say, my voice no longer demure, no longer naive. “I am not interested.” 

I release his wrist like I’m flicking off a bug, and a jolt of anger passes through me when he immediately smirks. 

“No. You wouldn’t be. Not you, Angel of Gotham.” The masculine swoon to his voice is gone, replaced with a sly tone that makes me clench my jaw. I don’t try to deny it, there’s no use wasting that energy. But it can’t hurt to make him squirm and find out if he knows that I know at the same time. 

“How do you know?” I ask, rising from my seat and going to stand at the window, my gaze trained back onto the ground below. “Believe it or not, I’m a fan. I’ve been tracking all reported sightings of you for a couple months now. I put them all up on a map and was able to track your movement. You always leave from your apartment building, so I got a list of all the residents and narrowed the candidates down to young women who recently moved to the city. And there you were. Luckily, you worked in my own company, so you know the rest. I went into your department to confirm for myself, and here you are.” 

I’m stunned, maybe even a little violated. I know it’s more likely that he put a tracker in the vest or the gloves, but either way he’s been watching me from the shadows for longer than I expected. 

“I hear that stalking people is illegal.” I snark, peering at the ocean’s horizon. 

“So is being a vigilante.” He responds slyly, and I have to stifle a snort.  _ You’re one to talk.  _

I don’t speak again, trying to stifle my anger, which gives him the room to say what he wants to say.

“I have a business proposition for you.” He announces, getting up from the sofa and coming to stand a distance away to my left, the desire for intimacy that he had before now apparently completely abolished from his mind. “Let me lay out the details before you say anything, okay?” 

_ This isn’t going to be good if he’s presenting it like that.  _

He’s leaning towards me a bit, and out of the corner of my eye I can see his gaze imploring my consent for him to continue. I meet his eyes and return a curt nod. He also nods, takes a breath, and begins.

“Now that I am once again the head of the company, there is a large multitude of people both outside of the company and within the company who, quite literally, want me dead. Now, this isn’t a problem when I’m in my own home or here at work. If I’m killed in either one of those places, the person who did it can be tracked down much easier because security runs such a tight ship. But anywhere outside of those areas is pretty fair game for my assassination.” 

If I wasn’t talking to the Batman right now, I would be horrified by his nonchalance. But he and I cheat death every night, so it’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence.

“So, when I make public appearances, I need to have a bodyguard. But it can’t look like I have a bodyguard, or else the people inside the company who want to kill me will know that I know about their intentions. So, I need somebody who can protect me who blends seamlessly into my presence.” 

He goes quiet, but I can read the silence. 

_ That’s where you come in.  _

I already understand what he’s getting at. That’s why he did all that he did. He was trying to romance me, to see if I would fall for him. If it had worked, he would know that I wouldn’t be strong enough for the job. I can’t protect him if my emotions are in my own way. But I passed the test, and now I’m the perfect candidate. 

Beautiful, sweet to everyone who knows her, but deep underneath, a trained defender. Bruce Wayne’s perfect girlfriend. 

“I’ll pay you a hundred grand a year, but I’ll cover everything else. Clothes, food, transportation… housing.” 

His hesitation before the word housing makes me look at him again. His tone implied a wince, but his face is still aggravatingly placid. “Are you saying that I would  _ live with you _ ?” I gasp, my tone only slightly shocked. It makes sense, in fact it would be weird to do it any other way. 

He nods. “You would have your own separate room in my penthouse while the manor is being rebuilt.” He doesn’t say anything about what would happen once the manor was rebuilt, and I don’t either. 

He’s quiet, apparently finished with all he has to say. I pretend to think it over, even though I already have my answer. 

The moment he gave the benefits, I knew that I would be a fool to not do it. 

It goes directly against my mother’s wishes, but it is for her sake that I have to do it. The money he paid me can all be sent to my parents. Maybe they can finally have a comfortable life. I can give them the life they deserve for saving mine. 

“I’m not going to stop doing what I do.” I state, not even a question. It’s my one demand. He chuckles breathily. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” He thinks he’s sharing a quiet inside joke with himself, unaware that I’m in on it too. He looks me in the eyes, his gaze imploring. “So… is that a yes?” 

I sigh, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose and lament the situation I’ve caught myself in. But then I turn to Bruce and hold out my hand, which he dutifully shakes. 

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.” 

“And bodyguard.”

“...and bodyguard.” 


	4. Moving In, Face Your Fears

When I return to my office after Bruce briefs me with his plan, all of my colleagues are gathered together by the door. Upon my entering, they immediately swarm me, their eyes imploring for information and gossip. 

Jane pushes her way towards me, firmly grasping me by the shoulders so that she can shove her dark face right into mine. 

“What. The hell. Happened.” She bites out, though it’s clear that she’s not angry with me directly. 

It’s certainly a complicated question, but Bruce gave me instructions on what to say. To everyone else in the world, Bruce Wayne has taken an interest in one of his own employees, and now they’re in love. 

It almost feels patronizing to have to adopt this persona. It feels far too ditzy, but people want to believe lovestruck. 

So I bite my lip and look down at the ground, trying to hide from Jane’s eyes though I would normally face them head on.

“Bruce Wayne and I had lunch… and we talked.” My voice is quiet making it clear that it wasn’t quite so simple. Everyone groans and begs me to say what we talked about, what he’s like, but Bruce warned me not to go too far into the specifics.

“Let me craft my own persona,” he instructed. “All you need to say is that you were with me. That’s it. Everybody who is interested will look to me to fill in the gaps. It makes you more invisible to the people who want me dead, and they’ll suspect you less.” 

When my coworkers come to terms with the fact that I’m not going to relinquish any more information, they eventually fall away to their desks and get back to work. 

Jane is still tight on my case, as I knew she would be. She slides her chair over to my side of the desk and leans her elbows on her knees, close enough to me that I can speak to her quietly and have no one else hear. 

“Come on, Theo. What happened? You can tell me anything,” she murmurs. I sigh, my eyes focused on something in the distance. 

“I don’t know, Jane. He’s just not what I expected. I thought he was going to try to get in my pants, but he didn’t. He just got me lunch and we talked about the job, the city, life. He’s sweet. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.” 

This appeases her. She leans back in her chair with a satisfied grin. 

“I will enjoy living vicariously through you from here on out. Get me a really nice handbag or something. Any and all charity is accepted.” 

I finally admit her a genuine laugh and teasingly push her away. 

For the rest of the week, while I do not physically see Bruce again, his presence follows me in everything I do. 

Every morning, he leaves intentionally garish flower bouquets on my desk, some of them possessing an enormity that takes up most of my desk space. He has lunches delivered to me that I would have always considered a part of a fancy dinner. One day he orders pizza for my entire team. Jane doesn’t stop teasing me all day. 

I don’t cross paths with the Batman again. It would seem the entirety of the man is making an effort to give me some space, as I’m sure he feels at least a little remorseful for being such a stalker. It’s not until the end of the week that I’m planned to see the billionaire again, on moving day. 

As per Bruce’s instructions, I’ve been spending the past few days packing up all of my belongings. I don’t have much that I have to take besides my clothes, books, and a blanket that my mom made for me. I decide to leave all of my kitchen supplies and what little furniture I have for the next tenant. They will need them more than I do. 

Not long after I have everything neatly packed up inside a couple boxes and a suitcase, a knock on my door signals the arrival of Alfred, Bruce’s butler. When I open the door, I find that I like him immediately. 

“Good evening, Miss Theodora. I am here to assist you to your new place of residence.” He greets, so chipper that I wonder if he has any idea what I’m actually moving to the penthouse for. Nevertheless, I invite him in and hold out my hand to shake. He shakes it with both of his hands enveloping my own, a strikingly grandfatherly action that makes my heart swell with endearment. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Alfred.” It feels good to be this sincere, to actually smile at someone for the sake of smiling. 

He gestures towards the few boxes I have packed up behind me. “I knew you would make my job easy. Master Bruce insisted that he come to help but I had to talk him down. We have to be careful with where you make your public appearances, don’t we?” 

In one easily delivered question, Alfred conveyed a small part of how much he knows about the situation. I am grateful for it, as I had no desire to be left in the dark.

We perch a couple of the boxes on top of the rolling suitcase while Alfred carries one of the larger ones. I am worried that the weight will be too much for him, but it would seem that Alfred is far more capable than he looks. 

Outside, there is a sleek SUV waiting for us, large enough to hold all of my possessions comfortably. “One of Master Bruce’s more inconspicuous vehicles, I’m afraid.” Alfred comments, and I wonder if he’s making some inside joke with himself about the tank that Batman zooms through the city in. I don’t press. 

Alfred opens the door of the passenger seat for me and closes it once I get in, then gets in on the other side and starts the car. For a little while, both of us sit in comfortable silence as Alfred drives, the bustle of the city slowly falling away into the quieter areas. 

Alfred breaks the silence. 

“Will you be going out for a night on the town tonight?” 

It’s another carefully presented question designed to let me know that my secret is safe with him. It does not make me uncomfortable in the slightest that he knows, because it’s likely that he’s already keeping the hottest secret in Gotham under wraps. 

“I will be.” I wait a beat. “Will Mr. Wayne be joining me?” 

Alfred, to his credit, looks surprised, but also immensely relieved. “I expect that he will. Though I assume that he is unaware of your revelation?” I nod. Alfred chuckles.

“Very good, miss. Look out for him out there, will you? He tends to forget his own weakness.” 

I crack a smile, glad to already have a friend inside of an unfamiliar place. 

We pull into a garage under a tall residential building, and the security guard waiting at the gate gives Alfred a wave, pushing the button for the gate to open. The garage is filled with wildly expensive cars that I would never purchase for myself. 

“Are these all his?” I ask breathlessly, my eyes catching on a silver Rolls Royce. “Heavens no.” Alfred gasps, feigning surprise. “Only half of them.” 

The two of us share a smirking smile at the expense of the man that we have decided to help.

Alfred parks, and the two of us reload my stuff and head for the elevator. 

Once inside, Alfred lets out a long sigh. “My dear,” He says quietly, “You are truly brave for doing this. But don’t you dare let him do anything that you don’t want to do. Anything. I know he will not ever pressure you, but he will make suggestions. And if you don’t want to, you say no.” 

The conversation is uncomfortable, a bit like having “the talk” with your parents, but I nod in understanding of what he’s trying to say. 

“Of course, Alfred. The Batman hasn’t gotten the better of me, and I don’t plan on letting him.” 

Alfred looks lighter, even though he’s still carrying a heavy box. “Good on you, my dear. I like you more and more every second.” 

When the elevator opens, the person in question is waiting on the other side. 

Our eyes meet for a bit too long, but I keep my head on straight, determined to keep my promise to myself to not let him intimidate me. Even if he isn’t wearing the mask, I will carry the strength of the Angel within me.

He is the first to break our hard gaze once he goes to take the box from Alfred. “Don’t hurt yourself, old man. I need you around for at least a few more months.” Alfred sighs, his face suddenly more neutral than the smile he had only just been giving me. “You said that a few months ago. One of these days, I might just retire.” 

Bruce smiles genuinely, the fondness that I know him to be capable of poking out through his seams. It makes my heart ache, and I don’t push it away. I have to allow myself to see him as human. Even if it might hurt me. 

The elevator doors opened up to a small landing, the skylights revealing the dusky sky above. Bruce leads us through a sleek black door into the penthouse, and I have to blink twice to make sure I haven’t stepped into the front cover of a magazine. My sneakers squeak a bit on the shiny concrete floor, and I swear the sound echoes against the glass walls that overlook the shining city below. 

Bruce sets my box down on the ground, then turns to me to see my reaction. My eyes glaze over the vaulted ceilings and pristine kitchen, and while at first glance it seems sterile and cold, I notice a few boxes of cereal sitting on the kitchen counter, a fuzzy blanket laying rumpled on a suede couch in the living room, and a pair of dress shoes sitting by the front door, and I decide that maybe, this could be home. 

The thought makes me smile at Bruce, our eyes meeting once again as Alfred takes one of my smaller boxes and begins walking up a flight of stairs. “If you’ll follow me, Miss Theodora, I’ll show you to your room.” He calls over his shoulder. I break eye contact with Bruce and grab the large box he set down, quickly following Alfred before he goes too far. 

“Theo?” Bruce calls softly from behind me, and I turn around to look at him again, unsure on whether to focus on that he called me by my nickname or the softness in his voice. He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing as if he was about to say something but then decided against it. 

“Welcome home.” 

There’s something about that tone, that face, that man, that makes me do something that’s either brash or brave. 

I set the box down and approach him again, the evening light allowing me to pretend that he’s in the mask, and before I can stop myself, I raise myself on tip toe and kiss his cheek. When I pull away, he looks pleasantly surprised, though as Alfred promised, he doesn’t press. 

I go back flat on my feet, and though he’s bigger than I am, I feel as if we are eye to eye. 

“Thank you. And hey, we’ll figure this out. I’d prefer that the guy paying me doesn’t get assassinated. I’ll keep you safe, okay?” I reassure, and the corner of his mouth curls a little. 

“I’ll let you settle in.” He responds. “I’ve got a dinner to attend to, but I’ll see you later, alright?” He’s already heading back towards the door, though he doesn’t turn his back on me for a moment. I nod and give a small wave as he closes the door behind him. 

_ Yeah, Bruce. I’ll see you later.  _

I am able to track Alfred down, and he shows me to my room. It’s smaller than I was expecting, and I breathe a sigh of relief. If it had been too big, I probably would have felt way too small. 

The expanse of the closet does make me chew the inside of my lip, though. My clothes barely fill a quarter of the space. 

By the time I’m finished unpacking, the summer sun has completely set, so I get ready for the night, donning my familiar jacket that marks my person over my protective vest. I put up the hood and tuck the loops of the cowl behind my ears, the moisture of my breath beating back against my face. Finally, I put on the gloves that have proved to be effective in making sure that I don’t scrape up my knuckles too badly. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror in the light reflected from the city that is pouring through my windows, and I find myself not minding the power in my stance, the fear that my figure must illicit in the hearts of those who have done wrong, and the hope it gives to those who need help. 

I’m no Batman. And that is good. 

I go out into the hallway and run into Alfred, who startles a little bit like he’s seen a ghost. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Theodora. I’m used to only one masked figure prowling these hallways. You can get out by means of the fire escape that joins Master Wayne’s room. There’s a sliding window to open.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” I respond, inclining my head and following where he points. 

Bruce’s room is kempt, but I suspect this is only because of Alfred. Bruce Wayne doesn’t have much time to clean his room. 

I find the sliding window Alfred was referring to and step out onto the fire escape, a warm Gotham breeze greeting me immediately. The height from up here startles me, so I don’t look down and calmly make my way down and try not to let the thought of it collapsing overtake me. 

Once I reach the solid ground, I take a moment to assess my surroundings. In Gotham, sometimes just looking in a certain direction can direct you to crime almost immediately, but I’m also keeping my eyes peeled for a certain dark friend of mine. 

In this case, my gaze catches on the former. There’s a struggle two blocks away to my right, a man trying to pull a taxi driver out of the cab so he can steal the car. I break into a dead sprint down the road, cursing myself as the driver is overtaken and is cast into the street. The thief begins driving in my direction, and I alter my course, cutting into what little oncoming traffic there is and leaping into the open driver’s side window of the cab before I can convince myself that it’s unwise. 

I am able to kick the thief in the jaw, but a new problem presents itself almost immediately. He banks firmly to the right, making me lose my precariously braced balance enough to make me fall back out of the car and onto the sidewalk while the taxi bumps into a streetlight, barely hard enough to make the airbags go off. While I roll on the sidewalk in pain, trying to regain the breath that has been knocked out of me, the thief gets out of the car and runs, casting a glance at me over his shoulder. 

The taxi driver catches up to me, and I expect to hear a word of thanks but am sorely disappointed. 

“You crazy bitch! Look at the bumper! They’re going to chew me out for this one.” He then gets back into the cab and merges back onto the road, which is thankfully not very busy. 

I sit up on my knees, rubbing my bruised shoulder, when suddenly a large and powerful hand grabs me by the arm and starts yanking me backwards. Without even assessing my attacker, I immediately use the momentum of being pulled to flip my legs over my head in a backflip, wrenching my arm out of their grasp, whereupon I use the full force and weight of my hands and right leg to push them on the shoulders and the center of their chest. It’s enough force to make them fall backwards, pinned underneath my own weight, my left leg leaning on their torso while the shin of my right leg chokes them out. 

I am prepared to begin assaulting their face when I finally register who grabbed me, and I immediately scramble off. 

“Oh, my God. Batman, I’m so sorry, if I had known it was you, oh god.” 

He takes a couple heaving breaths, but sits up almost immediately, so I know he’s fine. 

“Are you alright?” I ask hesitantly, relieved when I am given the usual withering look I get when I make some snarky remark. “Okay, good. But to think, I just took down the Batman!” 

I stand and offer a hand to him, which he takes to raise himself up. He’s ungodly heavy. 

“And yet,” he rasps, “You couldn’t take down a taxi cab thief.” I don’t miss the tiny smirk on his lips, and it makes me scowl up at him in annoyance. 

“What would you have me do? Not all of us have glider wings to get around.” 

He shakes his head and turns to a wall within a nearby alleyway. It’s made out of normal brick, but it’s lined with pipes and electrical bracing to protect the wires. 

Before I can blink, he’s begun scaling the wall with aggravating perfection, finding footholds in places that look smooth until I squint. The building he has scaled is three stories high, and it took him a grand total of fifteen seconds to get to the top. 

“I would have you start by utilizing your surroundings. You have to stop relying on fire escapes.” He calls down to me, and I put out my arms at my side in exasperation.

 “What if I fall?”

 He shakes his head over the edge. “You won’t. You can’t rely on a safety net.” 

I know what he wants me to do, and I also know there’s no arguing it with myself. I wouldn’t be doing it if I had to prove something to him, but I have something to prove to myself. So, I screw up my nerve, spot out my future hand and footholds, and take a running start. 

At first, the momentum from my run does well to help me carry myself upwards, but I lose strength very quickly as I discover the effort it takes to keep my body close to the wall so that I don’t fall off. I have to keep moving, which is an issue when I’m not entirely sure on what my next move will be. A lot of it is a leap of faith, hoping that my fingers will be strong enough to snag on a pipe, praying that the toe of my boot doesn’t slip on the brick, and before I know it, my hands have caught on the ledge and Batman is pulling me over by the arms. 

I don’t realize that I’m lightheaded until I register the sound of my panting and realize that I’m doubled over, the most exhausted I’ve been in months. 

“You know you can do it. You’re just too scared to try. It’s time to get your feet in the air. On the sidewalks, you’re exposed, you’re obvious. Your enemies can see you coming and they can see you leave. You need to be more powerful than them. You need to be a phantom, or else you’re just a girl who took some martial arts classes.” He instructs. I barely have enough breath in my lungs, but I contemplate it and begrudgingly admit that he’s right. 

“I see what you’re saying. But I can’t help Gotham if I fall off of a rooftop.” I sigh. He cocks his head a little to the side, contemplating something. 

Then he smiles and shakes his head in exasperation. “You’re afraid of heights.” 

It’s posed as a statement of fact, and not as a question that I can deny. 

“You can use the rooftops for your advantage, that’s not the problem. The problem is that you’re scared of it, and that stops you.”

“So, what? I just leap from rooftop to rooftop, climb down, do my thing, climb back up? That doesn’t conserve energy.” 

I expect to have gotten the upper hand, but his smirk stays steady and annoying. 

“It would be easier if you would let me give you tools that would help.” He grunts in an almost sing song tone. Now it’s my turn to give him a withering look. 

“It feels more and more like you’re trying to make me into Batgirl, and it’s not going to happen. I’ve got my agenda and you’ve got yours, and I don’t mind sharing the space with you in the slightest, but don’t control what I’m trying to do.” It comes out a little snappier than I intend, and it makes his smirk dissolve. I wait for the reprimand, but it doesn’t come, not in the form of the two of us shouting at each other on the rooftop. 

When he walks towards me, I firmly stand my ground, but in this case it would have been better to run. 

His left arm firmly encircles my waist while his right arm points up at a place in the sky, and before I can register what’s happening we’re being yanked upwards, his cable attached to a nearby balcony window. He gets firm footing on the ledge, but leaves me dangling from his arms, my panic at its peak. 

On pure lack of instinct, I squirm and kick my legs into the open air, an involuntary whimper scratching past my throat. At the sound, Batman’s grip on my waist somehow tightens, the edge of his thumb gently brushing over my lower rib. 

“Breathe. Stop kicking or I might actually drop you, and neither one of us want that.” He whispers into my ear, forcing me to refocus on reality instead of getting lost in my fear. I follow his instruction and take deeper breaths instead of the shallow ones that don’t give me as much oxygen. I didn’t realize how much the distant ground below daunted me until now, but I unthinkingly clutch him with all the strength in my hands.  

“Trust me. I’m not trying to make you into Batgirl, I’m trying to make you into the warrior that Gotham doesn’t deserve. It deserves me. It deserves someone that will purge it of it’s sinners. But it doesn’t deserve you. Because you defend the innocents, and they will never thank you the way you should be thanked.” He whispers into my ear, our chests flush against one another, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to avoid looking down. 

“I don’t need to be thanked.” I whisper back, my focus shifting from my terror to the one who invoked it, the combined heat of his body and the summer air proving to be a little overwhelming. He shakes his head. “Angel, that’s the point. That taxi driver didn’t even make sure you were okay, even though you just saved his cab from being stolen. The only time they’ll ever realize that they needed you is if you’re suddenly gone from their lives. They’ll thank you when you’re dead. And that’s not going to happen. So you have to learn how to stay one step above the people you’re up against.” His voice slowly lost its rasp as he spoke, gradually softening into Bruce’s low tone. 

I force my eyes open again and make myself stare at the ground below, not far down enough to kill me but enough to break my legs beyond repair. 

“So, I can’t be scared?” I murmur, even as my heart still races at the sight of the ground. 

“No, be scared all you like. Just be brave in spite of it.” 

We both fall silent, the only sound coming from my deep, shuddering breaths. 

“I’m afraid of bats.” He admits, so quiet that I barely hear him. The shock the statement gives me makes me lean back in his grip so I can look at his face, though it conveys no emotion to the outside viewer.

_ “Really?”  _ I gasp, genuinely surprised that this man has any fears at all and even more surprised that he just admitted one of them to me. 

“Don’t get too excited. There’s a point I’m trying to make here.” He grunts, his tone tinged with embarrassment that almost makes me laugh. I quiet and let him speak, not wanting this moment to go to waste. His vulnerability is not something I ever expected to get out of a relationship with the Batman, and it certainly isn’t something I expected to get out of a relationship with the cold-hearted playboy Bruce Wayne. I welcome it. 

“I took something that frightens me and made it into something that makes me powerful. I decided that it was time to make my enemies experience my own dread. And once that happened, I wasn’t afraid enough of them to run away.” He isn’t maintaining eye contact with me, and I don’t make him. I don’t imagine he’s told this to many people, if any. 

When he goes quiet, I stare at him. I’ve somehow forgotten that I’m dangling fifty feet in the open air, or I remember it but I’ve stopped caring. 

“Close your eyes.” I instruct, and to my surprise he obeys almost immediately. I pull one of my hands away from where it’s gripping his shoulder, and with it I undo my cowl so that my entire face is exposed. 

I am once again either brash or brave as I lean forward to kiss his cheek, this one a little more intentionally lingering and heartfelt than the first one I delivered earlier that night. I don’t know how else to convey to him how much I appreciate his vulnerability. It was something that affected Bruce, so maybe it’ll help me get through to the Batman. 

I swiftly reapply my cowl as his eyes open, which helps conceal the blush that I know is covering my cheeks. 

“Thank you for telling me that, Batman. And thank you for mildly threatening my life. I think I needed it.” 

The fond smile returns, a gentle friend that comes from the most unexpected of places. 

He returns me safely to the ground with the encouragement to not confine myself to the sidewalk, and we part, both of us knowing that we will see the other soon. 

Following my promise to him to not stay afraid, I scale a one story building on my own. For a little bit, I consider jumping to the ground, but decide against it. One step at a time. 


	5. The Planner

I wake up abruptly, the feeling of falling from a high place jolting me upright in my bed. 

It takes me a moment to remember where I am, that I’m safe in Bruce Wayne’s penthouse, that Batman held tightly onto me and promised I wouldn’t fall. I’m breathing heavily, my hands are shaking as I push my hair out of my face. 

My door clicks open, and I turn to see Bruce standing in the doorway, his face rimmed with concern. 

I haven’t yet caught my breath or the entirety of my consciousness, so I can’t find any words for him yet. Sleep and fear dulls my tongue, but my mind registers the sight of him in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair rumpled and fresh out of bed.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly. “You… screamed.” 

Yellow sunlight is just beginning to peek through my windows, the edges of twilight hiding its face. It’s very early in the morning, and I curse myself for waking Bruce up. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Just… a bad dream.” 

He relaxes, the concern in his expression replaced with sympathy. 

“I’m sorry. Do you think you can go back to sleep?” His voice is gruff with sleep as well, a deep tone that echoes similarities to his vigilante persona. 

I shake my head. I’m far too pumped full of adrenaline to even think about resting again. Bruce nods and sighs a little. 

“Okay. Alfred isn’t up yet, but he probably will be soon. Do you want to go watch some TV in the living room for a little while? Take your mind off of things?” 

For a couple seconds, I can only blink at him. It’s such a simple,  _ normal  _ suggestion that I’m struck by how it’s never crossed my mind before. 

I nod and get out of bed, the two of us making our way down the hallway and the stairs to the living room. Bruce grabs a blanket off of the loveseat and tosses it to me, gesturing to the sofa. 

“Lay down. The remote is on the coffee table, put on whatever you want.” 

Still put off by my abrupt awakening, I do as he says and get comfortable, flicking through the channels of cartoons and early morning news until I find an ocean animals documentary. The narrator is currently discussing the enormity of the blue whale on the screen while Bruce is somewhere behind me, shuffling in the kitchen. 

It’s such a peaceful and domestic moment that I kind of want to punch something. I’m not sure why simply being at rest agitates me so much.

Regardless, I let my eyelids droop closed.

I wake up again to the sound of softly clinking mugs. When I sit up, the blanket covering my torso falls off of the couch, exposing me to the cool air conditioning of the penthouse. 

Behind me, Bruce is sitting at the breakfast bar while Alfred pours hot water into two mugs, a third one sitting close by. 

It gives me pause for a moment, to realize that they made a place for me in their home. Certainly, it’s a part of the job, but they don’t have to be so hospitable. They’re being accommodating for me because they want to be kind. 

“Tea, Miss Theo?” Alfred greets, his way of saying good morning. I smile in return, Bruce’s eyes catching mine for a brief moment. Alfred pours me a cup and slides it across the breakfast bar to a spot next to Bruce, which I hesitantly sit down in. 

“Late night?” Bruce inquires, sipping his tea and turning to face me. I shrug and wrap my fingers around the mug, relishing the warm sting that it delivers. 

“Yours was later. You weren’t here when I got back.” This wasn’t true. When I climbed back through the window, I saw his shadowy figure watching me from the corner. But after the night we had together, I didn’t want an awkward encounter with Bruce Wayne, so I just brushed my way through and went directly to my own room. But he doesn’t correct me and just shrugs. “Hazards of the life, I suppose.” 

Alfred and I share a quick glance. 

“So, how much longer should I stay at work?” I ask, the first to start the conversation about the ramifications of the new job I’ve taken on. 

Bruce shakes his head. “Give it a few days first. It has to have a reason that people can understand. They’ve already witnessed me sending you stuff even though I couldn’t physically be there. Now they have to see me coming to get you from work, taking you places for dates, things like that. It has to look natural, even if it’s uncomfortable.” 

“For who?” I ask. 

He grins. “For them. You’re not scared of anything.” 

_ You and I both know that’s not true. I kissed you over fifty feet of open air in a moment of weakness. _

I raise an eyebrow at him, vaguely aware that Alfred has retreated from the kitchen to give us some privacy. “I’m scared of affection. I don’t exactly have any notches in my belt.” 

It’s truthful, and something I probably need to admit so he doesn’t just assume that I’m comfortable with everything. But he chuckles as if I’m joking, and it isn’t until he reads my serious expression that he also addresses the topic. 

“Oh. Did you have a bad boyfriend or something?” 

His sensitivity is replaced with disappointing cluelessness, but I resist the urge to sigh. 

“Mr. Wayne, what would you say my romantic experience is?” 

He seems confused by the question. “What, do you mean bases, body counts, boyfriends?” 

I cough a little. “Sure, but all of those statistics have the same number in common.” 

When he realizes what I’m saying, a comically surprised expression overcomes him, his jaw dropping so low that a fly might go in. 

“Are you serious? Not even first base?” 

I wasn’t expecting him to have this kind of response. I thought he would have just shrugged and moved on from there. At the very least, I thought that he would be unimpressed or even disappointed in my lack of experience. 

I shake my head no. 

“I grew up knowing that men could be my ally, or they could be my adversary. Unfortunately, I’ve met more of the latter than the former. My hobbies don’t exactly encourage an active social circle.” 

Bruce hums thoughtfully, understanding my response. 

“Do you think it would be something you would pursue, if you ever got the chance?” 

“Well, yes. But truthfully, I don’t really know how.” 

Growing up, I took an interest in boys, and my parents never discouraged me from pursuing a relationship, but it still wasn’t something I prioritized. I don’t regret it, though it does make for a little bit of awkwardness later in life. Like now. Staring the city’s most well-known playboy in the face makes me feel a little bit self conscious of my virginity, though I am not about to abandon it for the sake of any man but the one I might marry one day. 

He takes notice of my shyness with the topic, and kindly relents. There seems to be a mutual understanding that there are a lot of bridges to cross here, but we will take care of them when we get there and not a moment too soon. I take comfort in knowing that he wouldn’t have made me scale that wall without knowing that I could do it. 

“Would you like to see who wants me dead?” He asks with a hint of a sardonic smile. At my amused scoff, he pulls out his phone and opens the photos app. He’s got a folder full of pictures taken of various people, both at press conferences and court hearings alike. There’s a wide range, and it makes me swallow a little at the vast expanse of people to look out for. 

“Luckily,” Bruce explains, “these people aren’t separate entities. They are all operating under the same two men-Richard Earle and another one of Gotham’s resident mobsters, Eusea Marella. He wasn’t nearly as powerful as Falconi, but his people are bitingly loyal. That’s probably why Falconi never bothered going after him, because he knew that revenge would be had. 

“Earle may have enlisted the help of this experienced mobster and his men in order to regain the control that he got so used to having over the past two decades. These are the pictures of all of Marrella’s known men. All of them have been convicted of major thievery related crimes, but have never been found guilty of murder. Whether that means they’re inexperienced killers or quite the opposite, I’m not sure. But it can’t hurt to be ready. Marella has bailed them out every single time they’re sentenced jail time. That’s not normal. Usually, mob bosses will bail out only their most important men and leave the disposables to rot. But apparently, Marella has a special attachment. I’m sure if he asked them to kill, they would, without a second thought.” 

He scrolls through several pictures of the gangsters at court hearings, all of them looking wildly unbothered by the handcuffs that bind their wrists. Each of the men look strong and sharp, but they all come from different racial and ethnic backgrounds. There isn’t a surface level pattern to Marella’s men, which is probably going to make it harder to track when more people join his crew. 

“How do you know all this?” I ask warily, trying my hardest to commit every face to memory. 

Bruce sighs. “I was warned by a few of my more loyal board members. Earle thought their loyalties lay with him, but apparently some people don’t want to see another Wayne family member killed, thereby completely bloodying the company legacy. They told me about Earle’s connection with Marella, but not much else, even though they probably know more. Earle could set these dogs on them if he finds out they betrayed him. So they’re not going to the police for it either. The corruption is slowly being purged, but it’s still rampant.” 

I chew my lip and think over the battle plan Bruce has laid out, and suddenly I understand much better why he needs me for this job. He literally can’t trust anyone. He may have secrets darker than his cape, but the dreams he has for the Wayne Foundation are ultimately meant to rise Gotham out of the pit it has fallen into. And in some cases, that means less money in the board member’s pockets. There’s no telling what will end up being more important to them. 

“So, what happens if one of these guys shows up?” I ask, even though I’m already formulating a few possible plans in my head. 

“Obviously, don’t kill them,” he snarks. I roll my eyes. “Damn. My thirst for blood waits another day. But we also can’t get them arrested if Marella is just going to bail them out again.” 

Bruce nods, appreciative that I understand. “So you’re going to have to render them useless to Marella. Alive, but of commission.” 

“And obviously they can’t ever see who I am, or this isn’t going to last long.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkle a little at the edges as he smiles, the soft Batman smile that emerged after I kissed his cheek and he made me face my fear. 

“I hear you’ve got just the mask for the job.” 

We spend the rest of that Saturday planning and memorizing every necessary detail of the people to look out for and how to deal with them. We decide that we can’t incapacitate the attackers every time they show their faces, or else they’re going to catch on that Bruce knows and has taken the necessary precautions to protect himself. The string would easily tie back to me, and then it would be over before it even started. 

Alfred comes to make us a lunch of cheese and chicken quesadillas with guacamole, but with him he carries a large book that Bruce grimaces at the sight of. 

“While the two of you are on the topic of how you plan on presenting yourselves when you make public appearances, might we take a look at what public appearances Master Bruce has planned?” He drops the large plastic bound volume in front of us and turns away to make lunch. Bruce sighs and opens it, the numerous pages rustling. 

My eyes widen. “How far does this go?” 

“The next year and counting. Not all of them are mandatory, but most of them are strongly recommended for the sake of the company.” 

He turns to the current week, and I bristle when I see  _ Meeting with Theodora  _ written in for yesterday in Alfred’s careful script. I don’t comment on it, though. There had to be planning for this. There is no telling how long he’s been watching me, both as Bruce and Batman. 

There isn’t anything written in for today, but Bruce takes a pen clipped to the cover of the planner and writes something in. 

_ “Date” with Theo. _

He looks up at me immediately afterwards, a question in his gaze. I look back at him, answering. 

“It’s up to you, boss. Whatever you think is important.” I fight to not tie emotional significance to the question, trying to keep him as an arm’s length friend at the most. 

He nods, and underlines it, solidifying the plan. “You can take my card and go shopping today. Just get whatever you think you’ll need for now, and we’ll iron out more details later.” I nod, trying to match his nonchalance while concealing my stingy attitude towards money. Growing up, we didn’t have much, but knowing what life could have been like never prompted me to complain. Clothing from thrift stores has worked great until now. 

Bruce turns the page to next week, and it’s full of meetings and dinners and parties. His eyes flicker over the page, and he takes the pen and starts crossing events out, narrowing them down to the ones he deems to be actually important. 

“Tuesday night, we’re going to see Brahms’ Fourth Symphony with one of my father’s old business partners, Dr. Harden. I expect that he will bring along an entourage of his colleagues and his wife. They are going to try to talk me into investing more money into their cancer research facilities. And I am going to say no.” 

He holds up a hand as I take a breath to protest. Apparently he knows what he’s doing. 

“The research infrastructure of that hospital is completely corrupt. The truth is, there is a cure to cancer. I’m already investing money in it. But those fat cats are looking to get rich and powerful off of the sick and poor. Chemotherapy is a booming business. They just want more money so they can alleviate the costs for their patients by a little bit, making them look like benevolent humanitarians while more people come to that hospital in search of the same help. More business, more money, more people chock full of radiation while there’s a medicine under development that can purge the whole thing from their bodies in less than a week.” 

There’s a passion in his voice that even Alfred raises an eyebrow at, while I sit in horrified reverence at the truth of what he’s saying. He’s right. Medicine is a business, not a missionary field. 

“Doesn’t that just make you more enemies?” I ask cautiously. He delivers a tired smile. “Sure. But I think it’s worth it.” 

_ He knows what it’s like to watch someone you love die.  _

He turns back to the planner and outlines a dinner on Thursday night and a charity ball on Friday, and even though I nod and acknowledge, my mind is caught. Why does Bruce put on this act of being an awful human being, when underneath the curtain and the cowl, he’s doing far more than what could ever be asked of him? 

I want to ask. I want to grab him by the shoulders and make him explain why he hides his true character. But I know that though we are friends by necessity, he will not explain the most wounded parts of his soul so readily. 

He told me last night that Gotham deserves Batman but doesn’t deserve the Angel. But Bruce Wayne doesn’t deserve the hatred that is thrown his way, not when he has sacrificed everything for the very people that scorn him. 

I wonder if he even cares anymore. If the Bat has consumed him whole, a sacrifice to save a perishing city. 

Everything in me hopes not. 


	6. Dinner and A Bruise

The car has a relatively comfortable silence as Alfred drives Bruce and I to our first “date,” but I am charged with nervous energy. 

Bruce left an anonymous tip to a few media agencies that Bruce Wayne has a new relationship and will be taking her to the Aire for dinner tonight. The paparazzi are bound to be present, and I will make my debut to the world. 

To Bruce, it’s just another day playing chicken with the media. To me, it’s the emotional equivalent of standing in front of an enormous crowd and letting them say whatever they want. 

I wish I didn’t care so much, but I grew up in a family where it was necessary to keep your head down for the sake of survival. Having the eyes of the world now turned to my person is a little nerve-wracking. Obviously, Bruce has no idea about this, but I called my parents today and informed them of the new situation, as much as I can. 

My mom answered almost immediately, as attentive as always. 

“Theo, honey. Hold on, let me put you on speaker. Your dad is here.” The line clicked a little, then I hear my father’s voice for the first time in weeks. 

“Theo, my warrior. Your mother told me what’s going on. Are you alright?” His tone may be gentle, but I know he’s afraid for me. He’s always wanted to tackle problems head on, but with us separated by an entire continent, there’s not much he can do. 

“Yes, dad, I’m alright. I haven’t made any new moves and neither has he. But I wanted to tell you something, and it’s probably going to be shocking, but I wanted you to hear it from me before you saw it in a tabloid.” 

On the other end, they are quiet, giving me the space to speak. 

“I’m dating Bruce Wayne.”

The statement hung in the air. I don’t try to cushion it with more circling lies, this conversation is painful enough as it is. I’ve never lied to my parents before, I never had a reason to. I’m lying to them now so that I can keep them safe from the dirty truths and dangerous lines that I’m walking. 

They’re still silent after a too-long beat. I almost started to wonder if the connection cut out, but then my mother’s voice comes through, uncharacteristically quiet. It chilled me to my core. 

“Does he know?” She asked. I bite my lip and force myself to not cry, because I have to lie to them, again, because the truth will put them in even more danger. 

“I haven’t told him anything,” I whispered, a half truth that is less painful to force past my lips. 

“For your sake, Theodora, keep it that way.” My mother hissed in response, a tone I only ever heard her use in moments of danger, when we need to move or the cops will find us and the Shadows by default. 

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I love you both, so much.” Then I hang up before they can cut me off, before the pain of betraying my family to keep them safe overwhelms me. 

I wish that my mother’s warnings weren’t hanging over my head. It’s an overwhelming balance, but I try to convince myself that this is what is best for them, for Bruce, for the city. 

We pull up on the restaurant where a bunch of people with cameras are loitering, looking at the car we are in with hungry expectation. 

Alfred turns around in his seat just as Bruce reaches over and places a careful hand on my shoulder. None of us speak, but I make eye contact with both of them and nod. 

Alfred exists the car in a flourish, coming around to Bruce’s passenger side and opening the door.

The light from the cameras makes me squint, but I force myself to smile boldly as Bruce takes my hand and helps me out, his arm snaking around my waist once I’m firm on my feet. 

The paparazzi are wildly shouting Bruce’s name, trying to catch his attention, asking him who I am, how we met, what my name is. 

He gives them no verbal response, but he turns to me and plants a gentle kiss on the area between my cheek and my ear. They all chatter even more madly, their voices sounding like birds screeching, but I maintain my smile, keep the fondness for Bruce in my eyes, trying to hold onto the quiet moments on rooftops and in his kitchen that make me actually appreciate him.

We haven’t known each other for long, but the attachment I have to him feels like the most natural thing in the world. He’s my friend, in a complicated sense, but I trust him all the same.

I’m wearing a long sleeved black dress in order to hide the bruise I acquired from falling out of the taxi last night. It’s a simple look, but Bruce assured me that this restaurant wasn’t too flouncy, so I wouldn’t have to look too elegant this time. 

He keeps his arm firmly around me as we finally enter the restaurant, but both of us relax a little once we are out of reach of the cameras. 

A young man who must be a waiter approaches us, looking clipped and professional in his restaurant-mandated uniform. He seems a little nervous, but he keeps steady eye contact with the both of us as he speaks. “Mr. Wayne. Your table is ready, if you’ll follow me.” He turns on his heel and starts walking through the aisle between the tables at a leisurely pace, and Bruce and I follow.

It’s difficult to ignore the stares we’re getting. Bruce is used to it, in fact he seems to openly welcome it, but it does nothing but heighten my discomfort. He must sense it, because his thumb runs over my lower rib reassuringly, a motion that hearkens to the little comfort he offered last night while he dangled me over a ledge. 

We reach a table in a relatively secluded corner, and the waiter pulls out each of the chairs. Bruce guides me to sit down, then takes his own seat across from me, our eyes catching briefly as the waiter places menus in front of us. 

“The usual, Mr. Wayne?” He asks smoothly. Bruce nods. “Thank you, Javi. And a couple waters as well, please.” 

Javi nods once and briskly walks away. Once he’s gone, I feel free to look at Bruce in a manner other than a warm smile, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Come here often?” I teasingly drawl, and he rolls his eyes. “Often enough. Our waiter is the owner.” My mouth falls open a little, surprised by his young age. 

Bruce nods, understanding my shock. “This was my parent’s favorite restaurant. They were good friends with the owner, Javi’s father. It was passed down to him.” 

Though Bruce’s face betrays no emotion on the topic, I feel a slight weight in my chest at the mention of his parents. While we haven’t talked about it directly, for pretty clear reasons it had a profound effect on the course of his life and the formation of his soul. I’m touched that this would be the place that he would take me to for our first date, even if it’s not actually real. It’s a tiny invitation to me to know him better. 

I steal a quick glance to the side and catch a group of people looking at us warily and talking to one another in low voices. 

“We’re being watched. Nobody that we would need to be careful of.” I quietly inform Bruce. 

He scoffs. “Honestly, I’m more careful around people who hang out around here than the people who want me dead. My assassins have pretty clear intentions. These people are morally grey at best.”

I giggle a little, partly by his comment and to keep up the facade. Bruce follows my lead and reaches across the table for my hand, idly playing with my rough and calloused fingers like they’re a part of a delicate China doll. My knuckles still have the small scabs over them, a side effect of punching people and getting tossed from taxis, but the gloves Batman gave me have been helpful in protecting them from further damage. I know Bruce is thinking the same thing as his thumb gently runs along the rough wounds, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t want me to put him and Batman on the same thought wavelength, even though I’ve already made the connection all on my own. I don’t plan on telling him that, though. My friendship with the Batman is too invaluable to expose it to the light. 

“What’s it like… out there?” He asks carefully as if he isn’t intimately aware himself. I lean my chin on my other hand and stare at him, wanting us to look as if we are lost in one another. 

“It’s a part of me, I think. I don’t relish in the fact that there are people who are scared I might show up, but I like to think that there are people that put hope in the fact that I will.” 

Javi comes and leaves a couple glasses of water and a carafe. Bruce gives him a tight nod but turns his attention back to me as quickly as it left. I know he already knows what I’m saying on some level, but I still want to hear the commentary on it that Batman is not likely to provide. 

“What made you want to in the first place? Where did you learn all that you can do?” 

I knew that this would be an inevitable question to come with either Batman or Bruce Wayne, so I am prepared with a pre-arranged answer, the same one I always plan to give to anybody who asks. 

“My parents adopted me when I was very young. Both of them had grown up in a series of broken foster homes and had to learn how to fend for themselves. They didn’t want the same fate for me. So they adopted me, raised me in a loving home, and taught me how to fight so that I would never have to learn like they did.” 

Watching his face, I know he doesn’t believe all of it. But he made the mistake of asking as Bruce Wayne. If he had asked as Batman, he would have questioned the specificity in my form, the offensive positions I take over the defensive, the precise organization of my energy and weight to bring the most powerful impact. But Bruce Wayne wouldn’t know anything about that. So he can’t ask. 

“That’s very brave of you.” He comments softly, and I curl my fingers a little more into his.

_ “Be scared all you like. Just be brave in spite of it.” _

I giggle lightly, playing the part in contrast to the dark topic at hand. 

“No, Mr. Wayne. It’s just being a good human being.” 

_ And that’s why Batman is the best of us. He could sit in his mansion all day and pity the suffering. But he goes out and defends them.  _

I see his eyes flicker away a little, likely thinking what I hoped he would. 

He thinks that he has to be all alone in order to defend the city, but I want him to understand that’s not true. He doesn’t have to have a grand and lonely destiny in order to be the Batman. He can have help. He can even have a family, even if it’s just Alfred. Even if it’s just me. 

When I catch myself thinking of Bruce as my potential family, I withdraw my hand from his and take a sip of my water. I’m moving this way too fast to let myself catch up. 

Apparently our emotional exchange for the night is finished, because Bruce leans forward with an amused grin painting his features. 

“There’s a man behind you with toilet paper sticking out of the top of his pants.” 

I almost turn to look directly where his eyes are glancing, but he reaches across the table and grabs me by the shoulder. “Don’t look! Oh my god, don’t look. Not like that. I thought you knew how to be inconspicuous, you’re terrible.” 

He’s keeping his voice quiet, trying to stifle his laughter that peeks out through a brilliant smile. 

“Bruce, you can’t deliver juicy gossip like that and  _ not  _ expect me to be immediately intrigued. I want to see the toilet paper man, dammit if it embarrasses him,” I whisper-yell in return. 

“Theodora, I’m not kidding. That guy owns the car dealership just outside of town, he is not somebody you want to piss off on a whim.” 

His words are serious, but his tone is unabashedly giddy, like a child. 

I sigh dramatically. “Fine, Bruce. For the sake of your precious image, I will not openly mock the toilet paper man.” 

We’re staring at each other, our faces beaming. It’s our first conversation that doesn’t have a darker undertone. I don’t want it to end, and apparently neither does he. 

“One time in high school, I tp’ed the outside of the library. It wasn’t a huge deal, we didn’t even throw any eggs. Just a tipsy night with my friends. But since it was a boarding school, punishment was discipline. Campus security caught us and made us clean the bathrooms after curfew. But we just saw it as a way to hang out past curfew, so we cleaned the bathroom and tp’ed it again before we left. We got the same punishment over and over again until the administration finally caught on and just sent us to our rooms at nine o’clock every night for three weeks. Totally worth it. I recommend misbehaving at every opportunity.” 

There’s a shine in his eyes as he tells this story, it’s a memory from when he was younger, still burdened by the deaths of the people he loved most in the world, but from before he took up the banner of the Bat. 

His enthusiasm is what makes me laugh with elation, a feeling that I haven’t experienced in years. The people around us start getting annoyed with our boisterous chatter, so I try to be quieter. 

“Laugh all you want.” He commands me when he notices that I’m trying to keep my voice down. “These people don’t know how to react when they see real fun.” 

He’s looking at me with humor in his eyes, but I can’t help but wrap myself in his sentiment. Tonight is a far cry from last week, when I borderline detested his artificial arrogant air. I’ve come to recognize that Bruce Wayne, just like Batman, is a character. It’s a part he plays in order to reach a goal. For a moment, I wish that he didn’t have to pretend, but then I remember that Gotham would be lost without him. He wants to make this sacrifice. He chose this life. 

Javi brings each of us a steaming plate, perfectly cooked salmon with a series of cooked baby carrots on the side, covered in some combination of oils and spices. Bruce nods at the waiter and discretely hands him a tip. Javi smiles and inclines his head, catching my eyes for a moment before hurrying away. 

Bruce gestures to the plate in front of me. “This was the first dish I ever ate that had seafood on it. I was a very picky eater as a kid, but Javi’s father came and watched me eat it at my parent’s request. I felt too embarrassed to just leave it sitting there, so I had a bite of salmon. Needless to say, I was pretty surprised when I ended up liking it. After that, it was easier for me to try new things.” 

I try to imagine a tiny Bruce sitting in this elegant place, innocent and untainted. 

It hurts my heart. 

Bruce and I eat quickly, fed up with the feeling of people watching us. Javi takes Bruce’s card, brings it back, and we are on our way, Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist with his hand resting on my hip as we walk out. 

The paparazzi are gone from where Alfred picks us up, though I suspect that it’s not because they got tired of waiting. Bruce knew that they made me uncomfortable, and since we didn’t need to see them again, he likely placed another anonymous tip. They’re off on a wild goose chase, vying to be the next person to catch a glimpse into the life of the eccentric Bruce Wayne. 

As we start to drive home, I start to feel the bruise around my shoulder smarting. It hadn’t bothered me much before, but I often don’t pay much attention to pain until it makes itself clearly known. Therefore, I don’t say anything about it until we’re back in the house. 

It’s dark in the kitchen, but Alfred and Bruce flick on the lights over the breakfast bar, causing the shine of the incandescent bulbs to reflect off the granite counter tops. 

“Alfred?” I ask softly as I take off my shoes, trying to not sound too urgent or pained. “Do you have any recommendations for healing a bruise?” 

The poor old man catches my eyes and we share a fleeting knowing look. 

“I’ve got some arnica oil in my room, Miss. Always works like a charm for me, maybe it’ll do the same for you.” I nod appreciatively, and Alfred heads to retrieve the oil, but Bruce approaches me, a concerned look furrowing his brow. 

“What happened?” He asks, his hands going for my right shoulder once I reach for it myself. Recognition flashes across his face. 

“Fell out of a car at a low speed. Not a big deal. If it’s not broken, neither am I.” I respond nonchalantly. He doesn’t seem to agree with my philosophy. 

“Let me see. My father was a doctor.” He orders. I roll my eyes. 

“That doesn’t make you one.” He raises an eyebrow, daring me to challenge him again. 

“It makes me second best. Let me see.” 

I sigh and begrudgingly relent, reaching over my shoulder to unzip my dress enough to pull my arm out of the sleeve and through the opening for the head. 

Once it’s in the light, I wince a little, surprised at how bad it got. It’s about the diameter of an orange, the outside edges rimmed in angry red while the center is decorated in a blended mix of purple and blue. 

It takes a lot for me to admit that a wound is bad, but Bruce treats it like it could kill me. I know it’s partially because he hadn’t known the fall had been that bad, and immediately afterwards he had grabbed that same arm and tried to drag me away, then made me climb a building unaided. He feels guilty, and I don’t want him to. 

“Oh my god, Theo! This is terrible!” He exclaims, pressing his fingers along it to feel for swelling or even broken bones. The guilt carves his frown, and it softens me. 

“It’s alright. I’m used to it. It’s what I signed up for. Occupational hazard.” I gently reassure him, trying not to shiver at the cool touch of his fingers. He shakes his head, exasperated and clearly out of his depth. 

“It shouldn’t be! Don’t get thrown from cars! I don’t care how slow they’re going!” His voice reaches a tone of frantic that startles me a little. I’m used to Bruce being collected. 

I take my left hand and gently cover his worrying fingers with my own. “Bruce. I know it looks bad, but I’m really okay. And I know what I’m doing out there.” 

He looks into my eyes with a hardened stubbornness, drawing short breaths into his nose. I keep his gaze with a steady attitude, not willing to relent on this topic. There’s a thought brewing under his expression, but it does not surface. I do not force it out. 

Alfred returns, carrying with him a glass bottle with a dropper. He hands it to Bruce. 

“If you won’t be needing anything else for the night, I’ll be turning in.” He announces. I smile. “Goodnight, Alfred. Thank you.” 

Bruce is already opening the bottle, placing a couple drops on my skin and rubbing it in with his pointer finger. I don’t feel any difference, but I don’t expect it to have an instant effect. 

“Put some more on in the morning.” He instructs pedantically, handing me the bottle. I nod. “Thank you, Bruce. I do appreciate your concern, even if I don’t need it.” 

He closes his eyes and lets out a long, tired breath. “You  _ do  _ need it, Theo. You’ll be more careful out there if you know that there’s someone depending on you to come home.” 

He surprises me by pulling me into a hug, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist and his chin tucked over my left shoulder. 

“You’re an incredible person, Theo. Thank you for doing this.” He murmurs behind me. I wrap my arms around his middle and turn my head to the side so that I can hear his heart steadily beating. 

“You’re welcome, Bruce. I know we haven’t run into any real issues yet, but I’m enjoying myself so far.”

We both pull away at the same moment, the close touch disappearing as quickly as it was initiated. I turn and head to my room, leaving Bruce in the kitchen to choose whether he will turn in for the night as well or don the mask and head out. I will be taking the night off, a little too tired from the stress of a different night life to engage in another one. 

“Goodnight.” I call quietly, and Bruce stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods a farewell. 

I hear him go to his room a little while later, and the muted sounds of him clambering down the fire escape follow. 

It’s Batman’s watch tonight. I’ll let him keep it. 


	7. The Mansion

There are days that Sunday mornings are the only thing keeping me going. 

They’re quieter, far more peaceful than any other time of the week. The streets are nearly barren save for a few lighthearted taxi drivers and people flocking their way to church. 

This morning, I headed out the door without a good morning from either one of the masters of the house. I don’t mind, as I do not need either of them to accompany me to where I’m going. 

My sneakers pad quietly along the hardwood of the murmuring church’s large floor. It’s early enough for the sunrise service, and most of the current attendees are either over sixty or have a blue collar job to attend to later in the morning. 

A choir of bright eyed teenagers serenades a quiet hymn over the sleepy congregation, promises of salvation and deliverance in a long dead language floating through the air. Many would argue that the promises themselves are dead, especially in this city. And while I see where they are coming from first hand, having been dealt the blows of Gotham’s evil, I cannot believe that it is beyond saving. Gotham is in need of a spiritual revival, a new belief in something that not even the Batman can provide. 

The city has lost sight of its concept of eternity. It basks in the temporary, suffers in the moment. To this place, death brings nothing but the void, so what’s the use wasting so much time easily following the rules?

I rejected that theology a long time ago. I knew in my heart of hearts that there had to be something more, some benevolent force that served as the standard for what is good and what is evil. There has to be a God who loves me, or else I’m fighting my way through life only to plummet off the edge of a bottomless cliff. 

I don’t pretend to understand all of it, but I can feel that this place might provide the beginning of some answers. The pale orange sun filters through the smattering of colors in the stained glass, the building around me is solid and sturdy, and I remain at peace, my head bowed, my heart open and grateful. 

By the time I leave the building, the morning is in full swing, the sun much higher in the sky and the streets filled with people enjoying the weekend. They smile at me with the Sunday morning softness that only emerges once a week, and I smile back. I know that interactions like this won’t last for long. When I become well known for my affiliation with Bruce, a simple interaction with strangers likely won’t be possible anymore. I need to relish it while I can. 

I find an open spot on the sidewalk and wait to flag down a taxi, but a rather expensive car pulls up in front of me and rolls down its window. 

For a moment, I think it’s Bruce and step off the curb to lean into the window, but the face on the other side of the tinted glass is one that makes my brain click in recognition. It takes me a moment to pin up my demure facade, but if Richard Earle notices that I’m putting on an act, he doesn’t betray any recognition of it. 

“Theodora!” He greets cheerfully through the open window, and I grant him a polite smile even though I’m already on high alert. “I’m Richard Earle, a friend of Bruce’s. We run the company together. Your picture was making rounds on social media last night!” 

I nod and look nervous, even though I kind of want to punch this guy in the teeth. 

“Can I interest you in a ride home? I’m just coming from church myself.” He asks cooly. I have to fight a scoff. I know a blatant lie like that when I hear one. 

“Oh, no thank you Mr. Earle. I enjoy taking a walk on a nice day like this.” I sweetly protest, and his face falls a bit in annoyance. “I understand. But, here. Take my card. You let me know if you ever need anything, alright? I know Bruce can be a little… you know.” 

He hands me a standard business card through the window, but I don’t grant him another thank you. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Earle. Have a good Sunday.” I hastily depart, not wanting to get roped into a conversation that I’m not yet equipped to have. His car pulls away a little while later, though I know that I’m likely being watched closely. 

There seems to be no shortage of ways that Gotham’s economic elite continue to invade my privacy. It’s aggravating. Could Earle have been following me with the cameras stationed around the city? Was he waiting for an opportunity to get me alone? It’s likely. There isn’t much of another explanation for why he would approach me so directly. I have to be careful with what he could find out. Our enemies don’t need to know that I’m living with Bruce yet.

I call a taxi and head back to my empty apartment. I already turned in my keys, so while I can’t go back into my own space, the hallway serves as sufficient cover for the time being. Once inside, I call Bruce. 

He picks up almost immediately, my phone only ringing twice.

“Good to know you’re not dead. Is there something wrong?” He answers with a certain degree of relaxed uncaring. Though I had practically disappeared, he knew that I was fine. 

“Well, Earle just followed me to church and offered to give me a ride home. I’m inside my apartment now, pretending that I still live here. I’m pretty sure he’s watching me with the city security cameras, or something stupid like that. I really hope he’s not watching the penthouse, because that would create some complications,” I explain concisely, never getting flustered with the information. 

Bruce heaves a sigh. “Okay, great. Hang tight, I’ll come pick you up.” 

He hung up, the conversation ended. 

Sure enough,  not long after, Bruce’s shiny black Lamborghini pulls up on my curb. I roll my eyes. 

_ He couldn’t have taken the SUV? _

When I get into the car and look over at him, I almost burst out laughing at the sight of him still comfortably dressed in a black t-shirt and some flannel pajama bottoms. He notices my grin and heaves a sigh. 

“I don’t make a habit of going out on Sundays. Getting you from church, of all places, is no exception.” 

“Hey, don’t patronize me for going to church. One of these days you’ll join me, like it, and have to suffer that blow to your ego.” 

He doesn’t respond, and instead we pull away from my apartment, the people milling around on the sidewalk gawking at the expensive car passing them. I am grateful for the invention of tinted windows. 

“Earle must think I’m an idiot. Everyone alive knows that he ‘moved on’ from the company. He told me that you still work together.” I muse aloud. 

Bruce scoffs. “I wouldn’t call the guy misogynistic, because that would be doing him a kindness. He believes in the idea of a man’s world. I believe in the idea of a human’s world.” Once again, I am mildly blindsided by the grace of Bruce Wayne that the rest of the world doesn’t wish to see. 

“Is he married?” I ask, appalled that a man so blatantly bigoted could be anywhere near a place of power. 

“I can barely believe it myself, but yes.” Bruce chuckles in reply. 

I smirk. “In that case, there is hope for you yet, Mr. Wayne.” 

He laughs, big and hearty and unreserved, and I scold myself for allowing my heart to flutter. 

After a while, we pass by the street that we need to take to get back to the penthouse. Before I can even raise an eyebrow, Bruce explains. 

“I just need to go check on the manor. You don’t mind coming along?” There’s a nervous tone to his question, though I am unsure of its origin. 

“Not at all. That house is practically a national monument.” 

As we drive in relative silence, the city falls away into flat land and green. I crack my window and breathe it in, glad to escape from the crush of buildings and closed in skyline. Bruce follows suit, and soon the whole car is filled with warm wind. 

I smell the manor before I see it. The longevity of the stench of the burning house would be impressive if it wasn’t associated with such potent loss. 

There’s still charred rubble sitting to the side of the construction site, waiting to be cleared away, and I try not to wince at the thought of all the lost memories that the piles of charcoal hold. If it bothers Bruce, he doesn’t make any show of it, and drives us onto the relatively untouched driveway of the front of the house. I have to admit, the progress made on the manor so far is impressive for the speed it was completed at. 

The bare bones of the manor have already been erected, and the stone walls are already being laid over them, though there is nobody working on it today. To the outside eye, the house would look ghostly and barren, but I know the life that was once breathed into it. It can still return. 

Bruce parks, and the two of us get out, our feet crunching on the gravel that leads up to the bones of the front door. Caution tape lines the perimeter, but Bruce ignores it and holds it above my head as I walk through, my eyes gazing upwards at the blue sky filling the spaces where the floor has not been put in. 

“It’s coming together really nicely.” Bruce comments, kicking at the dust that’s blown over the concrete foundation we’re walking on. 

“Is it the same?” I ask softly, and his mouth forms a tight, thin lipped smile. “No, it’s not. But what can be done? I made my choices, and these are the consequences.” 

I suddenly make the obvious connection that Bruce Wayne did not burn his house down in a drunken stupor. He couldn’t have, because Batman was prowling the Narrows that same night. Bruce’s house burned down because he chose to value being the Batman over conserving what was important to him as Bruce. 

“Then, who actually set your house on fire? God knows Alfred wouldn’t let you do something this stupid.” I prod him gently, trying to be teasing but genuine. He stares at me evenly, a facial expression that I often adapt in order to hide a brewing emotion underneath. It drags out for so long that I start to wonder if he’ll even respond, but then he lets out a long breath and rubs his palms into the hollows of his eyes, trying to rub away images of memories that he doesn’t want to hold onto. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Bruce. You barely know me, you don’t have to tell me a word.” I quickly backtrack, suddenly embarrassed to have struck one of his nerves. His gaze re-emerges and locks onto me, something in his countenance cracking.

“No, it’s okay. I think that you might understand, and I know I trust you with it.” He murmurs, and despite the heavy emotion and trust for me that is laced within him, I force myself to not react and remain an impassive confidant until he’s done speaking. 

“I had an old friend come to visit. He was the one who inspired me to take control of the company and use it for good. But we didn’t part on good terms. I ran away from him because I burned his house down. He repaid the favor.” He explains in a low voice that forces me to step closer to hear. 

“But it wasn’t really a fair exchange. He had a legacy, power, intrigue, everything that this house had in spades. But he didn’t have a family. And by burning this house down, he took the last I had of my family.” 

Ghosts used to walk the halls of Wayne manor for Bruce, but now the halls they walked are gone. The walls around them can be rebuilt, but it isn’t the space that matters. It’s the time spent within the space. The time that Bruce spent with his family within Wayne manor is now lost to the wind, and not even replicas can bring it back. So there’s only one thing to do.

“You make your own family.” I command, not wanting there to be any room for suggestion because a suggestion can be negated. “You take this house and you make something out of it that’s more than brick and mortar and expensive kick-knacks. You make it a home for people who need it, including yourself.” 

He’s chewing the inside of his lip, his eyes fallen away from me because the impact of my words have taken their effect. 

“You look your friend in the face and you tell him that he hasn’t and won’t win.” 

It’s a quick but rousing speech, one that makes even me feel a bit more exhilarated. But Bruce looks a little out of place, his gaze trailing over the house and the plans that are coming for it. He doesn’t seem like he wants to respond. Probably because he doesn’t know how. 

I step away and wander around the foundation to give him some space, my fingers trailing over the brick and plaster walls. An idea comes to mind, and I smirk, backing away from the wall and then taking a running head start towards it. The toes of my sneakers catch on the rough surface and propel me upwards until my hands catch the top, then I pull my body up until I’m laying on my belly on the narrow beam of brick. With greater care than is probably necessary, I raise up on my feet and stand on the top of the wall, triumphantly placing my hands on my hips. 

Bruce stares up at me, trying to look amused and bewildered, but I recognize the knowing attitude behind his smirk. 

“Feeling proud of yourself?” He asks slyly. I point down at him accusingly. “Hey, none of that. I have a fear of falling, this is a big step for me.” His eyebrows knit in confusion. “Falling? What about heights?” I shake my head, knowing he would ask. “Heights are fine so long as I know that they’re stable. If I know that they can collapse, then I’m afraid that they will, and make me fall.” 

It’s the explanation I was unable to give Batman because I was emotionally incapacitated. It takes effect, because Bruce nods in understanding and steps back so he doesn’t have to crane his neck upwards to look at me. 

“What else are you afraid of?” He questions, being fairly forward in his pursuit of knowing me better. There’s only one other thing that really terrifies me to think about, but it sticks firmly in my throat. To any normal person, this fear would be rational and they would agree. But Bruce can’t agree because it’s already happened to him. 

My silence and tight lips makes Bruce stare at me, waiting for an answer. I feel frozen to my perch on the wall, pinned under his gaze. 

He sighs. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m used to people looking at me like that, like I’m a wounded animal and doing the wrong thing will make me snap.” It surprises me that he was able to read my face that well, but maybe pity just has a universal facial expression. 

I decide to grant him the truth because I know he can take it. “I’m afraid of losing my parents.” I call, so quiet I’m not sure if he’ll hear me. “They’re my everything. I wouldn’t have this life if it weren’t for them.” 

He’s quiet, but the corners of his lips turn up in a sad smile. “That’s a good fear to have.” He admits. 

The distance between us isn’t helping me in wanting to comfort him, so I sit down and fall off of the ledge, landing with a crouch so my legs aren’t jarred by the shock. But when I walk over to him and take in the breath to offer some words of comfort, I realize that there is nothing I can say anymore that he hasn’t heard already. I’ve already provided him with instruction for what he can do next, but I can’t heal the past. He’s chosen to take what happened to him and make something out of it. He’s already healed himself in ways that nobody else can. 

So, I change the subject, though it scares me to do. I’ve known that this would have to come at some point, and now is probably as good a time as any, instead of having to do it while we’re being watched. 

“We need to kiss.” I order, a presentation of fact. 

His eyebrows shoot up into his forehead. “Are you sure? I know it’ll be your first time. What if I screw it up?” 

I know he’s teasing, but the comment makes me slightly indignant. “Yeah, famous playboy Bruce Wayne screwing up a kiss. I have no idea what to do myself! What if I’m awful at it? What if it doesn’t look real? What if there’s memes about how bad at it I am? What if-” 

My rambling is abruptly cut off by the very thing I asked for, and I mutely register myself thinking about how cliche it was. 

But Bruce is aggravatingly gentle, his hand holding the nape of my neck while the other cups my elbow, while I am too surprised to do anything with my own hands. His kiss is an action, not quite robotic but far from having any emotion within it. When he pulls away, the touch of his hands and lips abruptly departing, I have to put on my mask, because while he does not betray any feeling in his features, my heart is racing out of my chest. What he just did to my heart is devastating to my plan to remain impassive to him. And he cannot know my feelings. 

Before he can hear me gasping for breath, I take a step back and scrunch up my face in mild disgust, bringing the back of my hand up to my mouth and wiping away, as if the feeling of his claim on me could easily leave. 

“God, did you have to put that much saliva into it? It’s like your mouth was full of water!” I exclaim, providing a cough for extra effect. Bruce rolls his eyes. “Come on. That was tame. I can show you how to really go at it.” He takes another step towards me, and I put up a hand, blocking his chest in an attempt to prevent him from coming any closer. “That’ll be enough for me, thanks. Maybe another time.” 

I feel his laugh vibrate through my fingers, and I force myself to jerk away before I can allow myself to relish it. 

On the drive back to the penthouse, I mentally berate myself the entire way. The kiss was necessary, but the fact that I consistently go against my personal vow to not allow him to affect me is proof that Bruce could soon have me wrapped around his finger. Which isn’t good, because I have to remain independent in order to stay safe. The Shadows may be unaware of my whereabouts, but if they were to find me, I wouldn’t want Bruce or to get wrapped up in the mess. He’s got enough going on as it is. 


	8. Failure

Upon our return to the penthouse that afternoon, Bruce promptly falls asleep on the couch. Alfred sighs at the sight of him, and I notice the age on his face and failing posture. He looks less like a grandfather and more like a weary old man. 

“At least he’s sleeping. That’s all I can ask for these days,” he murmurs quietly. Exhaustion carves the lines around his eyes, and I wonder how much sleep he gets. 

Everybody knows about the tragedy of Bruce Wayne, but Alfred falls so far into the background of the story that he’s nearly invisible. How it must have grieved him to watch the boy he raised as his own rise up to become something so heroic but so inhuman. 

I lift my hand to cup his face and lean forward to kiss his cheek. 

“Take a day off Alfred. Everyone needs a lazy Sunday every once in a while. I don’t think that Bruce will be moving anytime soon,” I suggest. Alfred squeezes my hand and nods. 

“I think I will, Miss. But don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”   
The old man retreats to his room, and I turn my attention to Bruce’s sleeping form. 

It’s strange to see him in a state that’s so unguarded and peaceful. While it is one thing to see Bruce Wayne asleep, it is quite another to witness the Batman at rest. Many believe that he’s a phantom, an angel, an alien. But here he is, worn down, his eyebrows subconsciously knit together in concern. He cannot rest, even in his sleep. 

I follow Alfred’s example and return to my room, still spotless thanks to the butler’s tidy nature. I’m grateful for it, a clean environment offers one less thing to clutter my mind. 

I throw my purse onto my bed and empty its contents. My phone and my wallet slip out, but I have to dig a little to find what I’m looking for. 

Richard Earle’s card emerges from my purse, a little crumpled in the corner. An address is neatly printed under his personal phone number and the number for his administration office. 

I pull out my phone and dial the number for the office, not wishing to call the man himself. I’m prepared to meet a dead end, as it is a Sunday and out of business hours. But after a few rings the line clicks to life, and the gruff voice of a man is what greets me from the other side.

“Uh… hello?” He asks, sounding unsure of himself. 

I nearly trip over my own words as I scramble to adjust my voice to sound lower and scratchier like an old woman. What comes out sounds more like a smoker, but it’s enough to try to keep myself concealed. “Oh. Yes, hello. I was just calling to make an appointment with Mr. Earle. I’ve taken an interest in his… company and would like to be a part.” 

On the other side, I can hear other male voices that sound frantic and frustrated. It’s all a jumble of words, but I catch one sentence that makes me raise an eyebrow. 

“Hang up, you idiot!” Somebody hisses, just as the call crackles for a moment and clicks off.

I have to look at the card again to make sure I called the right number, but everything is correct. I call again, but this time the line rings out to an automated voice message. I don’t leave anything. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that something weird is going on at Earle’s office. I don’t even know if it has anything to do with his own doing, but for Bruce’s sake I begin to assume that it is connected to the potential assasination plot against him. 

Sometimes it pays to be paranoid, because it can make you proactive. 

I pull out my computer and scour every GPS and street view for information about the building and the other businesses around it. 

It all turns up the same, shiny windows, brick, concrete. Nothing about the area itself is out of the ordinary. It’s essentially a part of a business park, secluded away closer to the mainland. No residential areas are nearby, and the ones that are closest are a part of a quieter collection of houses and apartments that don’t have the raucous crime rates of the inner city. 

There’s something going on there, and it’s going to drive me insane until I find out what it is. 

Because it’s summertime, it takes an agonizingly long time for the sun to set. By the time the twilight is finally beginning to darken, I’m already dressed for the night, my hair pulled into a low braid underneath my hood and my cowl pulled up to the bridge of my nose. I try to convince myself that tonight, I am not a guardian. Tonight, I am a phantom that comes and goes, unseen, unknown. 

It’s a long way to Earle’s office from here, too far for a leisurely stroll. Therefore, I have to look like a civilian travelling on the recently repaired train, my hood still up and my head down, but my cowl not around my mouth to avoid drawing any attention to myself. I fall into the background of the other late night travellers, their eyes gazing out the windows and conveying an exhaustion of life.

I am the only one to get off at my stop, but nobody pays me any mind. Finally alone in the shadows, I cover my face completely, don my gloves to protect my knuckles, and walk the short distance to the office. 

The street surrounding me is branched with the office buildings I saw in street views, each one made of shining glass that reflects the flickering orange streetlights. No one walks past me, which would make me wary, but it’s Sunday and this isn’t a residential area. It would make sense that no one would be in these buildings at the moment, but I know for a fact that Earle’s building is occupied, and not by an enterprise employee. 

Earle’s building sticks out a bit from the rest, the walls a combination of smooth white stone and glass windows. I duck into an alleyway between two buildings, glad to find that this is where they placed all the ugly electrical and air conditioning fixtures. They provide adequate hand and footholds, and though it makes my heart race to do it on my own, I use the pipes and wiring to climb until I reach a ladder hanging from the top of the four stories. My legs shake a bit once they are back on solid ground, but I have to keep moving to make good time. Before I do anything, I take a quick check of my surroundings for security cameras, but there are none that I can see, not even the tell-tale blinking of a red light in the dark. 

A curved metal air conditioning exhaust vent is sticking out of the floor, and I immediately move towards it, completely ignoring the door that would be ultimately easier to use. Earle already tracked me with cameras, he will probably track the Angel too, and then he’ll put together the pieces. 

I stick my fingers inside the grates of the vent and pull, bracing all of the energy into my feet. The screws pop away, the area around them a little rusted. The darkness of the vent makes me nervous, but I pull a pen light from my pocket and see that the straight drop is only as tall as I am, so I climb inside of the vent and slowly lower myself inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. The vent blessedly holds my weight, but I decide to not take any chances and lay on my belly to try and evenly distribute my weight. I would like to avoid falling through. 

The vent leads into a corridor that requires me to army crawl through. It’s not comfortable, and it’s not something I’ve ever been in the habit of doing, but I remember that I’ll be making my job easier later on, so I quietly clamber along the metal, the sound of my own breathing echoing back to me. 

I eventually reach a fork in the path where one direction banks to the side and the other slopes down to the next floor. I position myself feet first and shakily slide down, trying to not make a clanging noise. At the bottom, there’s another grate underneath me, though I don’t want to risk not being able to replace it if I go through. 

I’m trying to determine my next move when the sound of voices beneath me makes me suddenly hold my breath and stay perfectly still. 

“He’s crazy. The guy is fucking crazy. There’s no way in hell that this is going to work, and even if it does, there’s no way that we can all get off scot free. Wayne may be an asshole, but he’s not an idiot.” A man’s voice hisses, trying to stay quiet despite the passion in his voice. The slats in the grate allow me a sliver of vision into the room, and in able to make out two men, one of whom just spoke. 

“Carnel, everybody here knows the guy is losing his mind over losing his precious company. He needs us to get what he wants. We can use this to our advantage. We up the costs the more he asks of us.” The other man growls in return. 

“But now it’s too much. If we get caught, our lives are over. And anyways, you and I both know that ” 

“We’ll never have to work again if we don’t get caught. So look alive. It’s just like any other job.” 

I can barely see their silhouettes through the grate below, and a soft click of the door indicates that they left the room. Air rushes out of my lungs in a relieved sigh. 

It sounds like they’re planning something even worse than what Bruce was anticipating. If these guys are trained killers, there’s no reason for them to be worried about carrying out a murder plot. All it would take for them is one shot in the head and that would be the end of it. But it would seem as if there’s a longer game at play, one that ultimately glorifies Earle and places him back into the seat of power. 

The air around me is getting to be unbearably hot, so I have no desire to remain in here for much longer. I consider going a little further, but then I decide against it. I’ve confirmed for myself that this is where the gang must be meeting up while Earle requires their services, and I’ve gotten some more information about their plan. I can come back another time when I have more ideas for what actions I should take next. 

I have to brace my boots and hands against the sides of the slide in the vent to lift myself back up, which is difficult to do while still remaining quiet. My muscles are straining against this unfamiliar type of activity, and I feel sweat beading on my neck and down my back. When I start army crawling through the straight path again, the toll of the physical activity I’ve had to do in the last ten minutes is proving to take its toll. I stop to rest, to allow my aching arms a reprieve, but still panting in the heat. 

When a bullet rips through the metal of the vent in front of me, embedding itself in the other side, I nearly scream in surprise. 

The sound of muffled yelling comes close by, but my ears are underwater, blood pumping through me at a lightning fast rate. 

The clicking of a shotgun reloading forces me to spring into action, not caring about the noise I’m making because I’ve already been found out. The minute I start to clamber around, I hear muffled shouts through the vent and the wall that I must be on the other side of. Another shot tears its way into the area behind me, and I can guess that whoever is wielding the gun is not an experienced marksman. I could probably get it away from him no problem-I’ve dealt with guns before-but not in a confined space like this. I can’t dismantle anything from here. I’m a sitting duck. 

I finally reach the area of the vent that leads back into the ceiling, but I now I likely don’t have much time before they cut me off. The rough edges of the exit cut my fingers where I’m gripping it, but I’m too full of adrenaline to feel any pain and only mutely register the blood dripping from my fingertips as I emerge in a heap on the ground, gasping at the taste of fresh air and struggling to get back on my feet, my entire orientation thrown off-kilter. 

When I finally get back up, one of man hands holding the cylinder I just exited for support, two men burst through the door to the roof. Time slows down as I wait for them to pump me full of bullets, until I realize that neither one of them are holding guns. One of them unsheathes a knife from his belt while the other sparks a taser as a warning. I’m in no position to be missing the guns though, so I ride on my good luck and bolt like a newborn foal for the edge of the building, clattering down the ladder but panicking when I can’t figure out my next step. 

I haven’t felt fear like this in a long time. 

I don’t have many options for an escape, as I’m about three stories in the air and my only way down is balancing my toes on the cased wiring and pipes. It won’t be quick enough. By the time I’m down, they could already be on the ground and then I’ll probably have real guns to worry about. I cast a quick frantic glance over my shoulder, my eyes catching on the other side of the alleyway. And I know that there’s no other choice.

With a whimpering grunt, I push myself off of the wall until I reach the other side, whereupon I push myself back to the other wall, and I repeat, falling the whole time. I almost manage to land on my feet, but fall hard onto my knees, tearing my pants on the rough concrete and bruising my knees badly. There’s shouting nearby, and though I’m in pain and all I want to do is give my screaming body rest, I get to my feet and run. It’s not as fast as I want it to be, but the adrenaline keeps me from stumbling. 

After a few blocks, I look over my shoulder, believing that I am safe, but my stomach drops when I see a small group of people advancing on me, each of them holding unidentifiable weapons in their hands. Not one of them is holding a gun, a confusing absence but not one I’m going to take the time to question. 

The sound of a motorcycle ahead of me snaps my gaze upward, hoping that there’s some approaching civilian that can save me from the lonely fate I’m going to meet if I can’t run fast enough. But it’s no ordinary motorcycle, and it’s no ordinary man riding it. 

Batman cuts directly behind me, the cycle blocking the shortening path between me and the group of men, who I can now hear shouting over the ringing of my ears. They stop in their tracks, almost comically skidding to a halt. 

“Get. On.” Batman hisses to me, his gaze staring down my pursuers with nothing short of fury. I mutely obey and swing my legs over the wide seat, wrapping my arms around his huge torso and pressing my face against his cape. The engine rumbles beneath me and we speed away, but I don’t enjoy the ride. I squeeze my eyes shut and detach myself from the feeling of the wind in my face. 

I’ve never had an experience like that before. Where I don’t have the upper hand, where I’m outnumbered, Where I’m trapped and being shot at, where I have to either face what terrifies me or die. 

Where I lose. 

I’ve never lost, not like that. I’ve gotten hurt, but I always come out with the upper hand. 

The motorcycle slows to a stop in a quiet area of Gotham, behind a retirement home I always pass on my way to church. I peel myself away from Batman’s back and slump against the wall, picking at the dried blood on my fingers. My knees are starting to ache and swell, and I distantly realize they’re bleeding, a heavy road rash akin to a toddler skinning its knee on the sidewalk. 

Batman gets off of the cycle, but stares down at me and doesn’t say anything. 

“Just go.” I grumble. “I’ll take care of myself. Thank you for saving my skin.” I’m trying to avoid a lecture. The last thing I need right now is getting talked down to by the man I seem to spend every waking hour with. 

But he just lets out a suffering sigh and shifts in front of me. I stare at his boots until he kneels down and takes my bleeding fingers in his gloves, then releases them and assesses my knees as much as he can by the dim streetlights. I’m too exhausted to push his touch away. The amount of physical exertion I had to go through combined with having to literally leap from building to building is taking its toll. 

“The next time you plan on doing something like that, you let me know.” He murmurs in command, his voice a gentle rasp that conveys the disappointment of a parent in their child’s actions.

I glower at him. “Like hell. I’m not Batgirl, remember?” Though I can’t see his eyebrows, I get the feeling he’s raising one. 

“I’m becoming more inclined to convince you to choose otherwise. Batgirl doesn’t have to look over her shoulder.” 

Though my cowl covers it, I snarl. “Neither does Batman, but he doesn’t have anyone behind him. You’re fine on your own, why can’t I be?” 

“I just saved you from a torturous death at best. You’re not fine on your own, and neither am I. I have friends. People who help me and are there for backup if I get desperate. Though Gotham likes to think otherwise, neither one of us are invincible. Especially not you, if you don’t let me help you.” 

“You’re talking like you already know what I was doing.”

“I do. I’m trailing Earle for my own reasons, but I’m not diving into an air vent head first.” 

I’m frustrated and borderline humiliated, but I’m getting too tired to argue anymore. Part of me even wants to admit that he might be right. But still, I fight, I deflect, I snarl. There is shame in losing, in being too afraid to fight like I was taught and suffering for it. It bites. 

“That doesn’t make you any less insane. Dress like a bat, prowl around the city every night like you have something impressive to prove. You think that because you’re powerful, people are scared of you. No. People are scared of you because they think you’re unhinged. Maybe they’re right.” 

I don’t mean it. I know the power of Batman, I have experienced his influence in inordinate amounts within the past few days and every time I cross paths with him I walk away with a little more wonder at his character. But in the defense of my own image, I feel obligated to tarnish his. Shift the focus, deflect the anger, redirect him away from the disappointment I hold for myself. 

But he doesn’t respond, not a word. His face doesn’t even contort in indignace. He can see my lie, my childish and petulant scraping for validation after failure. 

When he takes my face into his gloved hands, his thumbs brushing over my temples and his palms holding my cheeks, I involuntarily let my head fall into the touch, leaning into his hands with nearly the full weight of my skull. 

He crouches down a little further until our eyes are on an equal level, and I can see the shine of Bruce’s eyes peering back at me through the mask’s holes. 

“I am not disappointed in you.” He rasps, so quiet it’s almost at Bruce’s gentle whisper. 

The moment is achingly tender, almost enough that I keep my tongue pinned down. It’s still not quite enough, though my voice falls into softness and the words don’t end up having nearly the same impact. “I never needed you to be proud of me in the first place.” 

His lips quirk upwards, and I swear I see his eyes flicker towards my cowl as his pointer finger pulls on the loop over my ear. 

“And yet,” He breathes, “I am.” 

The close proximity of faces and souls is overwhelming. I feel like he’s holding me down in an effort to make me listen to him, because it’s easy to ignore affirmation when I’m purposely distracting myself with constant movement, the constant need to do something different, to see something different, to never focus on myself, on my inner feelings, on the loneliness that comes with a life of being painted with a marred past that I can’t remember. My parents were my only real friends. I am only able to interact with the world around me because they taught me how to be brave, how to look someone in the eye, how to respond with wit and sass and never crack under any pressure. 

They were trying to prepare me, but it became a part of my identity, to always be strong and have a leg up on every person I meet, regardless of the side of the mask. I am ashamed of myself for failing. My fear overtook me, it obliterated my skill, and I ran like a coward. 

And yet,  _ he is proud of me.  _

I raise my hands to press the backs of his, my fingers interlacing in his gloves from the back of his hand. I squeeze his enormous hands that are likely largened by the gloves, but then I pull his touch away from my face and let him slide away from me. 

He helps me stand, my knees are worsening by the minute, but I am still able to walk on my own. 

We do not speak again, and I stumble back to the penthouse alone, well aware that he parked us close by so I wouldn’t have to walk far. 

The elevator ride up gives me a bad taste in my mouth, but the door is unlocked so I don’t have to wake Alfred. 

Small victories. 

The moment the door clicks behind me, I collapse on the floor. The distance to my room is too high a price to pay anymore, and the cool tile beneath my battered body removes the heat of the summer night. I almost fall asleep until the kitchen light turns on. 

In a moment, Bruce has rushed to my side, pulling me into his arms and lifting me from the ground. 

“Theo, holy shit. Wake up. Are you okay? Hey, wake up.” He murmurs with concern that I could easily believe. But I blearily open my eyes as he lays me down on the living room couch, propping me up on a few pillows, and I give my gruff reply. 

“Rough night at the office. Got shot at, jumped off a building, ran for my life.” 

He removes my cowl from behind my ears and pulls my hood down from my head. 

“You don’t make a habit out of getting shot at. What made tonight different?” He replies, the concern leaving once I’ve responded with snark. 

“These guys had guns. Well, actually, not really. They probably only had a few guns at the most. I was expecting a shoot out, but they didn’t have the guns to make it happen. The night wasn’t as eventful as it could have been.” I mumble, the events of the interaction only just dawning on me. If they’re gangsters, why didn’t they have any guns? There’s something not adding up. 

Bruce is assessing my knees and fingers like he’s doing it for the first time and not the second. He gets up and leaves, but I fall into a light doze, expecting him to return but not really caring about being alert for when he does. I just want to sleep. 

He returns, his presence brooding and shifting next to me as he places down the various pastes and oils and bandages he’s brought back with him. A bundle of cloth is placed on my chest. “Put these on.” He whispers. “I’m going to go get your arnica oil.” 

He leaves again, and I obey his request, taking off my uniform and replacing it for one of his long sleeved t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts he must have taken from my room. The t-shirt is unnecessary when he could have just taken some of my own clothes, but it is an oversized comfort and I do not protest against it. 

With my pants off, I can see the swollen, bloody expanse of my knees and the soft parts of my fingers. Not my most noble injury. It looks like I tripped on the pavement. 

By the time he returns, I’ve sunk back into the comfort of the couch, my muscles feeling unwound and tensed in the same moment. When I close my eyes, the image of sliding down the walls of the alleyways flashes back at me, the wrenching falling feeling ghosting in my stomach. 

I open my eyes again, not wanting to dwell in that fearful memory. I immediately meet Bruce’s worried gaze, his hand that is holding an alcohol soaked cotton pad hovering right over my knee. 

“I just… this might hurt.” He warns. I shrug. “So did falling. I can take it.” My eyes trail to stare at the ceiling, and Bruce sighs and begins to clean out my knees. It does sting, but I know that the cleaning process is important, so I don’t dare squirm away. My mind is still distant, lingering over Batman’s pride in me and how I can’t help but consider it to be misplaced when compared to my personal disappointment. But in the midst of the cold of my self-resentment, the thought of Batman’s gloves cradling my cheeks inspires a deep but subtle warmth. 

Bruce wraps some gauze around my knee to hold a cotton pad in place, the skin around my patella slick with arnica and antibiotic oils. I don’t comment on his expert application. I know where it comes from. 

He rises from the floor and picks up a paper grocery bag filled with the leftover cotton pads. He seems like he’s about to leave, but I reach up and catch his wrist with my fingers, not a powerful physical influence but one that halts him in his tracks all the same. 

“Thank you, Bruce.” I whisper, trying to raise my eyes to meet his in the dim light coming from the kitchen. There’s more to thanking him than just the knees, but I’m not sure how to convey it to him without it being an awkward exchange. The truth is, he’s the closest I’ve ever been to another human being save for my parents. And we only officially met as Bruce and Theodora two and a half days ago. It feels like years, and yet it all happened so quickly. 

He gives a small, soft smile and squeezes my arm. “Get some rest. You’ll be sore in the morning.” 

It takes moments for me to fall into a deep dreamless sleep. 


	9. Sore, Inside and Out

When I wake up in the morning, Alfred is there with a glass of dark red liquid that makes me rise a tired eyebrow. “I think you meant to give that to the vampire of the household.” I croak. Alfred releases a sheepish chuckle. “Not what you think it is. Cherry juice helps sore muscles.” 

I find that I am grateful for his proactive nature when I try to sit up. My arms creak in protest to the movement, and while it is a good kind of pain that I’ve learned to grow fond of, it does draw out an involuntary groan from my chest. Alfred wordlessly grabs me from underneath the arm and helps prop me up. I barely have time to thank him before he places the glass in my hand and prompts me to drink. I obey, though my lips pucker a bit at the unexpected tart taste. 

“There’s an ice bath waiting for you when you finish that. Not comfortable, but it’ll help your muscles and your bruises.” My nose crinkles a bit at the thought of the intense cold. “You seem to know a lot about muscle and injury care. Do you happen to have a surrogate son with a tendency to rough house?” Alfred cracks a broad smile. “It would actually be the rough houser who taught me all of these tricks. But do be careful not to wake him. He doesn’t get much sleep nowadays.” His finger gestures to an area behind me, so I uncomfortably twist around to look at where he’s gesturing. Sure enough, Bruce is there, curled up in the suede loveseat, completely passed out. 

My jaw drops. “I thought he went back to bed!” I exclaim in an exaggerated whisper. Alfred shakes his head. “I found him like that when I came downstairs. I saw your bandages and tried to be as intuitive of your needs as possible. Fairly minor injuries, though I’m not sure of their context, so I imagine you are probably extremely lucky to have gotten off the way you did.” 

_ You have no idea.  _

Once I’m finished with my tart beverage, Alfred helps guide me to the ice bath he’s prepared. I can walk on my own, but it’s very painful, and I can feel my joints creaking in protest with every step, so having Alfred to lean on does help. 

Once Alfred leaves, I undress and lower myself into the tub, unable to resist gasping at the frigid temperature. Alfred was right, it is extremely uncomfortable and snaps me out of my sleepy stupor almost immediately, but I know it is doing wonders for the lactic acid that is built up in my muscles, and provides a numbing sensation to my aching knees. It feels vaguely sticky to have to redress in the clothes I was wearing before, but part of me wants to relish in the sentiment of wearing Bruce’s shirt for as long as I can. 

The open wounds on my knees have stopped swelling and bleeding, but there isn’t a developed scab. I don’t want there to be, as I know that preventing a wound from drying out will help it heal faster. And I know that I need to get back out there as soon as possible, without achy knees getting in my way. My legs feel like they’re forty years older than they actually are, and it’s annoying at best. 

Bruce is still passed out on the loveseat by the time I return, but I am fully able to wrap myself back up without him or Alfred. I keep my legs straight, put on my various oils and potions, then wrap the area in cotton and gauze. I’m careful to not wake Bruce, but part of me knows that he might be tired enough to sleep right through anything. 

I relax on the couch for a moment until I am jolted to attention with a sudden realization.

I’m supposed to be at work today. 

While it might not matter in the scheme of wanting to keep my job, it does matter for the sake of the image. To all the world, I have to look like a sweet and naive woman who has foolishly fallen in love with Bruce Wayne, but has cunningly made him fall in love with her. Not having enough grace to come back to work even though I’m technically dating my boss doesn’t do much to help the public image, but it certainly doesn’t do anything to deflect Earle’s careful watch on me. He can’t connect the girl at his building with Bruce Wayne’s most recent squeeze, or the entire operation is basically doomed. Worse, he discovers Batman’s identity. Now I have to either go into work and risk being seen limping, or not go in and have Earle potentially question my wherabouts. 

I groan frustratedly, not being very mindful of the man on the couch behind me. He stirs, and upon registering the sound of my voice scampers to my side. 

“Are you alright?” He asks cautiously, his eyes glancing over my bandages. 

“I’m fine, but Bruce, I’m supposed to be at work. And if Earle knows that I was there last night and then I don’t come into work today, he’ll know who I am, and,” 

Bruce sharply cuts me off with a glaring look, and I recognize my mistake with an internally annoyed sigh. Batman knows that I was at Earle’s office last night. Bruce Wayne does not. 

“You were  _ where,  _ exactly?” He hisses, but the angry effect he intended is translucent to my sight. “Earle’s office. He’s using it as a headquarters for his gangsters. We might be in deeper shit than we thought.” I explain calmly. 

Bruce throws his head back in exasperation. “What were you planning on  _ doing  _ there? Making a few friends? Theo, those people would have killed you.” 

I roll my eyes. “They didn’t have enough guns to do it. Which is strange, considering how I heard them talking about their plans for quote unquote ‘terrorism.’ How can you pull off any scale of terrorism with a taser and a knife? It doesn’t make sense.” 

Bruce fakes being taken aback, his eyes scrunched into disbelief and his arms splayed in exasperation. “Slow down. Save it for later. We need to get into work.” 

Before I could get another word in, his long legs rushed him up the stairs. I sighed and followed suit at a much slower pace. 

I tie my hair up into a neat low bun and don a spritely maxi summer dress, a ditzy and feminine look that effectively covers my knees. 

Bruce meets me back downstairs, somehow looking immaculate and relaxed in the same grey suit and white button down. 

He doesn’t speak to me, and I almost expect for us to be silent the entire way there. His eyes are more focused on the road as he drives, some emotional thought brewing underneath his surface. 

I turn away from him to look out the window, a spark of amusement twitching my lips as I watch people turn and gawk at the car as we drive by. I probably would have been one of them just last week. 

Bruce heaves a dramatically loud sigh, pulling my attention back to him. Though his eyes remain intently trained on the road in front of us, his hand reaches out to gently grasp my forearm in his palm. “Theo, you really scared me last night. For a second there, I thought you were dead.” 

It doesn’t escape my notice how his statement has two meanings. He thought I was as good as dead, running like a scared child on the street, and seeing me splayed on the kitchen floor like a murder victim. 

“Bruce, it’s a part of the job. I’ve gotten hurt before. This will be completely better by the time the week is out.” I sigh, trying to be non-chalant in my deflecting. He shakes his head. 

“No, that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that you intentionally went after Earle without telling me. If I don’t know where you are, how am I supposed to know what to do if you drop off the planet? And I’m not saying that I don’t think you can take care of yourself. It’s just that the whole Earle thing is just as much of my business as it is yours. We have to work together on it.” 

The message is so similar to Batman’s that I almost snort. 

_ I won’t stop you from doing what you’re doing, but at least let me help you in it. _

But how are Batman and Bruce Wayne going to help me at the same time while he is under the impression that I am unaware that they are one and the same? 

The thought almost makes me admit to him that I know. But I selfishly hold back at the mere thought of the two separate friendships that I have with both men, and for some reason I am resistant to them blending together. They are each completely different people that Bruce presents. Maybe who he really is is nothing like either one of them. 

“I wanted to be proactive. The less I have to look over your shoulder the easier and the better.” I reason. 

“But it also puts you in danger, because Earle isn’t  _ stupid. _ ” Bruce retorts. “If they caught you or killed you, this whole plan would be gone. And we haven’t even had it for a week yet.” 

And I suppose that’s the point. Part of me believes that this life could be good, and it wouldn’t even have to be pretend. I could kiss Bruce Wayne in his kitchen and let his laugh ring in my ears whenever I’m sad. It’s something I can feel myself wanting, despite the short amount of time we have spent together. But it scares me to want it, and it scares me even more to have it. Being in love with someone is not something I had planned for my life, and therefore it cannot have a place. My independence is what I have always had, and it works well. It’s not necessary to throw a wrench like that into my plan. 

He pulls into the area of the parking garage that I’ve never been allowed to enter before, and the security guard at the entrance opens the gate without a single wave at the car. Bruce parks and turns off the car, so I reach for the door handle to get out, but a large hand on my leg right above my knee stops me. 

“Don’t.” Bruce commands. “Let me.” I barely have enough time to catch his eyes before the warmth of his hand pulls away and he slides out of the car with a grace in his posture natural enough to be well practiced. In the small moment it takes for him to walk to my door, I frantically rub my hand over the place where he touched me, trying to scrub away the feeling before it can linger and set in. 

He opens the car door for me, offering his hand to me as a gesture and as a genuine help. Alfred’s methods are certainly working their magic by now, enough that I don’t feel like every step I take is a limp, but it certainly still hurts to push myself to my feet. 

I spot a few businessmen making their way through the small parking garage, and it seems that they’ve spotted Bruce as well, because they begin to change direction to meet him where we are at. They don’t get the chance.

Before I can prepare myself, Bruce wraps his arm around my waist and caresses my face with his other hand, the two of us flush together as the warmth from his breath breezes past my neck. 

“I really don’t want to talk to them right now.” He whispers lowly, his eyes flashing in the business mens’ direction before returning to me, his pupils enormously dilated despite the harsh fluorescent light. “And, it wouldn’t hurt for some of them to see you now. They’re on my board, but who knows what side they’ve turned to.” 

The sound of my own ragged breathing echoes back at me and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it, so I turn my gaze to the side to look at where the men were. Sure enough, they’ve altered their course away from us, wanting to avoid any awkward confrontation with the playboy prince. Once they’ve fallen out of sight, Bruce’s hand leaves my hair and his hold loosens, but when his fingers slide in to hold my hand it’s almost worse. 

The world perceives Bruce Wayne as an abrasive sex symbol, the epitome of an unforgettable one night stand that you never hear from again but always hope to. On this side of the persona, I am achingly aware of his gentleness being the primary presentation of his character. It’s not what I expected, so I never guarded my heart against it. What a terrible mistake, because with the feeling of his thumb running over the back of mine, he finds his way into my heart and sets up camp. 

I find myself squeezing his hand back so hard that he flashes me a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Some grip you got there, Theo. Nervous?” 

Just like that, I pin up the mask and resist the urge to kiss him. 

“You’re the one that should be nervous. Do you have a board meeting today?” I ask, demanding to change the topic. His lips curl into a grimace. “Yeah. Not a major one but I’m trying to be a more present leader for them so they don’t try a coup. You and I both know the ways that they could pull that off.” 

I like having an inside joke with him, no matter how morbid it may be. 

“And don’t worry about having to go to your boss and quitting. I already called her myself this morning. Friday is your last day.” 

I roll my eyes. “Bruce, I could have taken care of that myself. You didn’t need to scare that poor woman half to death.” 

He smirks. “What, are you saying that I’m scary?” 

“Are you saying that you’re not?”

Our banter echoes through the sleek hallways of the building, and I pretend not to notice the stares we are getting as we walk by people. If I show that I’m embarrassed, he will just make it worse. 

The bustle of the main lobby area of the floor I work on has far more people than I want to deal with, but then again, I don’t have much of a choice. Bruce happily keeps me close, his hand in mine a grounding force of nature. 

Once we reach the double doors to my office space, he comes to stand in front of me and takes my other hand, and worse yet, brushes his forehead against mine for a bare moment, his hair tickling the bridge of my nose. It’s so boyish that I wonder if this would have been what it’s like to be a normal teenager. 

“I’ll see you soon.” He murmurs so softly it sounds sleepy. His eyes are searching mine, either to give him a lost in love look or to check that I’m okay. I give a bare nod, my breath stolen. I get a nod in return, and when his eyes flicker to my lips, this time I am prepared. 

He leans forward and softly kisses the corner of my mouth, his touch a kind brush of skin that doesn’t make me feel exposed in front of all of these people. We each pull away stealing glances over our shoulders until I am forced out of his sight, the door between us an offensive obstacle.

Once I’m inside of my office, I am immediately greeted by the same prying stares, except this time Bruce isn’t here to keep them away. This part is my job, tuck my hair behind my ear, smile shyly at the ground, and blush all the way back to my desk. 

Jane is there, gaping at me. 

For a long time, she’s silent, but I’m just biding my time until she can’t take it anymore. 

“Theo… how was your weekend?” She asks, trying and failing to seem subtle. I blink, images of dinner and motorcycle rides flashing in the backs of my eyelids. “Eventful.” I respond. She huffs. “You have to give me more than that. You have to.” Finally, she cracks wide open, her curiosity getting the better of her and everyone else around our desks, everyone leaning in to get into earshot. 

I sigh, high pitched and dreamy, and if it’s possible my audience leans in further, anxious for drama and gossip to a concerning fault. 

“Well, he took me to dinner. And he showed me where his mansion is being rebuilt. But everything that happened there is between me and him.” A sly smile curls my lips, likely an expression that Bruce himself inspired, and everyone around me groans in exasperation, starving for more details. But I don’t give them any for the rest of the day, no matter how much they beg or bargain. 

I could have made something up. Told a grand tale about how he whisked me away to an island for a day and a half and taught me how to surf. But that still wouldn’t have done our first weekend together any justice. It had its ups, and its definite downs, but I’m not sure I would change much about it. 

Every moment with Bruce so far was an adventure in itself, and he never needed an island to make himself interesting. 

He comes back to the office in the later afternoon, strolling through the desks like he does, in fact, own the place. It’s embarrassing. The Angel would have ripped Batman a new one. 

I pretend not to notice him and stare at my computer screen, trying to make sense of the numbers I’m being presented with. Everyone in the office hushes as he walks by, Jane snapping her fingers at me to try and grab my attention, but I pretend not to pay them any mind. I’m letting Bruce do as he pleases so he can take the lead in the show the two of us are putting on. 

He comes behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, his chin resting on my collarbone. “You look very concerned, Theo. Are the numbers not looking good?” He drawls into my ear, loud enough to be heard by those who are close by. I smile and tuck my chin into his embrace, my hand reaching behind me to feel for his cheek. “It’s your company. I don’t have much of a reason to look concerned.” He laughs, pulling away from me so I can stand up and face him, whereupon he pulls me into a tight hug, his hand bracing the back of my head and his nose breathing into my neck. 

“I missed you.” He whispers, this time too quiet for anyone else to make out the words. It’s only for me. Meaning that it’s true. 

We’re in such deep shit. So much for a  _ business proposition.  _

We depart the office, again clutching each other’s hands. I turn behind me and give Jane a little wave. She just shakes her head and scoffs. 

On our walk back to the car, I catch onto Bruce’s furrowed brow and pursed lips. Something is really bothering him. 

“What’s wrong?” I murmur. He clenches his jaw and glances down at me, but then shakes his head. “A lot of the board wants me to invest in the hospital we talked about. I told them no. Things got heated. I don’t want to have to sacrifice what I value in order to keep them on my side, though. Now I’m just worried if I’ve made it harder for us.” 

We reach the parking garage, each of us talking in quiet voices. “Bruce, you did the right thing. I don’t care if that means we look over our shoulders more often. It’s what I signed up for.” He opens my car door and I slide in, and he joins me in the driver’s seat a moment later. “I know. I was just thinking about what you did last night, and I do understand why you did it, though I still think you should have gone about it in a different way.” I roll my eyes as his accusatory glare, but he continues. 

“My point is, I understand that you’re trying to be proactive. I just think that ultimately, it might be safer for the plan if we take every obstacle as if comes, but be really careful about where we go until the crisis is averted.” 

For a moment, I think about just ignoring him and doing it anyways, but I also know the Batman is going to have an annoyingly close eye on me to make sure that his suggestion is followed. He isn’t comfortable with me going anywhere near Earle’s headquarters again. I have an identity to protect, and if I’m not careful it could be exposed. 

Of course, I look at Bruce sitting next to me and contemplate suggesting that we go back there together, but I can’t decide if him knowing that I know would make our relationship better or worse. So I turn and look out the window instead, swallowing the dangerous conversation for another time. 


	10. The Doctor and His Wife

 I hear Batman return late at night because I’m lying awake listening for him. 

I took a night in myself, thinking it best to keep a low profile for a little while so I don’t have anyone looking for me. I fell asleep on the couch almost the moment we got home from work, my healing body far more tired than it usually is. I woke up here in my bed something like ten hours later, and now I hear Bruce is back, mutely thudding on the fire escape then going quiet. A little while later, I see my door slowly crack open, and I keep myself still and pretend to be asleep out of pure instinct. In the dark, I can see Bruce’s silhouette watching me in the doorframe. I stare back, wondering if I want him to see that my eyes are open. 

He leaves. I fall back asleep, something like disappointment and relief brewing in my stomach at the same moment. 

In the morning when I wake up at the time I’m supposed to, I go downstairs to find Alfred is the only one waiting for me. 

“Master Bruce has already left for the morning, I’m afraid. Will I be a sufficient escort?” He asks primly. I give him a grin, though I am confused as to why Bruce would ghost me like that. “Certainly, Alfred. Your company is always welcome.” 

Our drive to the tower is quiet. Alfred seems the type to only speak when spoken to, which I appreciate. Quiet is comfortable to me, especially in the recent days when every event around me adds noise to the complication of my life. 

Even walking into the building alone after flashing Alfred a goodbye smile garners an inordinate amount of stares. Everyone knows who I am at this point, it’s unfortunately unavoidable. 

The work day turns out like any other, though it is clear that the novelty of my relationship has not worn off on my coworkers. But by the end of it, I am surprised and admittedly a little heartsick when Bruce still does not come to get me. The realization makes me angry at myself. 

Instead of calling Alfred, I take a taxi home, letting myself fade into the background as a normal person for as long as the world will continue to allow it. 

On the elevator ride up to to penthouse, I mutely remember that Bruce and I are supposed to go to the symphony tonight with the sleazy hospital owners. Part of me gets a kick of excitement to go somewhere with Bruce, but I also know that being in the presence of such terrible people is not going to be a fun experience otherwise. 

I knock on the penthouse door, but am slightly startled when it opens almost immediately, a beaming Bruce Wayne grabbing my hand and pulling me inside before I can even choke out a hello. 

“I know, you’re going to think it’s totally overboard, but I wanted to get it all out of the way so you don’t have to worry about it.” Bruce rambles, pulling me into the living room. The whole space is littered with boxes and plastic garment bags, and my jaw falls open as I realize what he did.

“Bruce, did you buy me an entire  _ wardrobe _ ?” I ask, incredulous. The amount of boxes and bags is insurmountable. This is probably what a normal person spends on clothes in their entire lifetime. “I’m assuming you hate the clothes I already have and wanted a change.” I tease, but he just rolls his eyes. “I wanted to get you a dress for the symphony tonight, but I got a little carried away. You’ll thank me later.” 

He turns away from me and picks up some of the items, throwing garment bags over his shoulder and piling boxes in his arms. I follow suit, grunting at the unexpectedly heavy size of one of the garment bags. “Bruce, you know clothes aren’t supposed to be made out of rocks, right?” I call after him, and his response echoes back at me from the hallway. 

“Ball Gowns are heavy, Theo. Just try it, you might like it more than you expect.” 

I can’t help but scoff. Of course he got me a ballgown. 

After a few minutes, everything has been moved to my room, Alfred’s careful work to keep it tidy now ruined. 

I shake my head, knowing that I can’t possibly try all of this on now, especially since we have to leave for the symphony some point soon. “Which one should I wear tonight?” I ask Bruce, my eyes not leaving the mess. 

It’s apparent he knows the exact answer to the question, because in a few long strides he walks over to where the garment bags are laid out on the bed and sorts through them until he pulls out a smaller dress than the ballgown, the red color its only defining feature that I can see through the plastic. I nod and take it from him. “Okay. Give me a little bit to get ready.”

He lingers, not responding. There’s something he wants to say, I can see him formulating a thought, but it doesn’t come out. So I fill the space, not wanting to find out the result that a silent staring match would have on my weak heart.

“Thank you, Bruce. I’m sure everything is lovely.” 

Almost immediately, the tension on his face breaks, and I realize he was nervous to see if I liked what he had done. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Leaving in about twenty minutes?” Now he’s retreating out of the room, and I give him a thumbs up as he closes the door behind him.

Alone, I take a breath. I’ve never been sure of how to accept gifts. I grew up knowing that my parents didn’t have much of anything, so whenever they managed to get me a birthday and Christmas present every year I knew it must have been hard hitting to their finances. I always felt guilty about getting presents from them, but I can’t feel that way now. These gifts are extravagant beyond belief, but it’s not like Bruce gives gifts as a way to give something of himself, as my parents did in their self-sacrificial nature. He gave this gift to me because he just wanted to spoil me. I can’t decide if that’s something I can process, or what it even means in relation to his complicated character. 

Either way, I put on the dress, a little unnerved at how well it fits. The neckline is straight, supported by two thin straps at either side. Thankfully, the back is covered by a lace-up detail, but a slit in the a-line skirt for my left leg exposes the amount of skin that would be expected for an escort of Bruce Wayne. As an afterthought, I don the necklace and earrings that Bruce left on my desk just last week. The passage of time has never been so confusing. 

My makeup and hair is already prepared from work earlier today, so I slip on some strappy heels and head back down to the kitchen where Alfred is waiting for the both of us. He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling fondly.

“Miss Theodora, may I say that you look lovely this evening.” He compliments. I smile genuinely in return, then pull my hair over my shoulder and turn my back to him. “Would you mind lacing me up? I would do it myself but I can’t reach.” 

Alfred accepts the challenge without hesitation, and pulls on the ribbons until I tell him that it’s good, then tucks the loose ends into the fabric of the dress against my back.

Bruce waltzes down the stairs a moment later, adjusting his cufflinks. His bow tie is a little crooked, so Alfred steps to him to help him adjust it. 

He looks at me over Alfred’s shoulder and smiles, though he does not offer any compliments. I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s never been one to stop and stare at the moments that I expect. So I shake off the disappointed teenager feeling brewing in my chest, and step towards the door, my silky skirt slightly trailing behind me. Bruce prys himself away from Alfred, and joins me where I’m standing, though his tie is still a little crooked. Without thinking, I reach up and pull it to the side, frowning when it bounces right back to where it isn’t supposed to be. Bruce’s face is painted in an amused smirk, an expression that has a habit of sparking indignance within me. 

“It’s not my fault you can’t get your bow tie right. I’ve got enough trouble with this dress as it is.” I gesture over to Alfred, signaling the help I needed from him in order to get the garment to fit right. Bruce’s eyes flicker over me, too fast to take much of anything in. “It suits you.” He decides, his smile a little more strained. 

The elevator ride down is silent, despite its occupance of three. I’m coming to realize that none of us are often the ones to initiate conversation when there is no need for any, and for that I am fondly grateful. Plenty of people fill the silence with tiresome discussions about the weather and how their children are getting on, but the three of us just decide to not waste our breath like that. Words will be said when they need to be. And tonight, I am certain that Bruce will have some very choice words for the people he and I are meeting for a showdown under the guise of a friendly get together with the ultimate goal of a business agreement. 

Personally, I wouldn’t know where to start with countering something like that. To tell somebody no, not because they do not provide enough profit, but because they never even brought their morals to the negotiation table. 

As we walk through the garage and Bruce opens the door for me to get in, I feel an uneasy pit forming in my stomach at the thought of Bruce endangering himself. It sounds ridiculous, for me to look at Bruce and be worried for him, but to turn to the Batman later that night and see nothing but strength and invincible resolve. It is clear that the two of them are different people that Bruce decides to be, but that doesn’t mean that the Batman loses Bruce’s humor or that Bruce loses the Batman’s brawn as the mask comes on and off. They are one and the same, just one of them uses words more than he punches. 

I look at Bruce in the car next to me and decide to chase away my fear by pretending that I will walk into the symphony on Batman’s arm. The Batman is capable of protecting Bruce and I, and I have to believe that in order to not get too in my head about protecting Bruce myself. 

My head hurts with the dichotomy, but it’s better than being overcome with terror. 

We speed through the city’s strip, neon signs for strip clubs and movie theaters alike beckoning to its audience of people that line the sidewalks. Even though it’s the middle of the week, the city is still alive with action, the recreation laced with debauchery and sin. This isn’t an area of the city that the Angel visits often, the lights make it too easy to get a good look at my face.  

A little further past the strip and the garish light fades away, giving way to candle light refracted through shiny glass windows. It would almost be a peaceful scene if it weren’t for the people sitting inside the restaurants, clearly dressed in extravagance and not bothering to care about the prices on their menus, but their faces carved with disinterested unhappiness. Apathy. Bruce throws himself into the Batman in order to avoid it. 

Alfred slides the car up to a break between the buildings, the area in between a paved walkway that branches into separate concert halls and theaters. Bruce gets out of the car without waiting for Alfred to open the door for him, then turns to me and holds out his hand. I awkwardly scootch across the seat to reach him, but delicately lay my fingers in his grasp, lightly pulling on him for support as I stand up out of the car. 

I give a quick wave to Alfred before Bruce closes the door behind us and pulls me by the waist to be closer to him, a natural position for him to lean down and murmur in my ear. “They’re waiting for us up ahead. His wife is wearing that blue dress. Look sharp.” He runs a reassuring thumb over my ribs. The motion is achingly familiar. 

My eyes catch on the group of people that he’s referring to, and immediately I’m grateful that Bruce will be doing most of the talking. They are all looking at the two of us with predatory smiles, each of us nothing more than a means to their financial ends. Their staggered group body language places an older man with a kempt grey beard at the front of the assemblage, likely the Dr. Harden that Bruce had told me about before. Public enemy number one. Harden’s arm is around his wife in the blue dress, though she is not at all what I had been expecting. She’s a gorgeous lanky brunette, and probably a third of Harden’s age. In fact, she can’t be much older than I am, but it’s clear to me that even she thinks of me as prey, her grey eyes flashing phony charisma as our distance between the group closes. 

I have to bite back a chuckle. These people all see Bruce and I as sheep to the slaughter, when we are actually wolves donning our sheepskins. So I look the girl in the eyes and do nothing but smile. No challenge, no submission. I will only attack if antagonized. This is far more Bruce’s battle than mine, so I will let him do what I know he is capable of doing while I will do the same for myself. 

“Harden!” Bruce drawls, perfecting the balance between professional and casual with nothing more than a word and his classic easy smile. The bearded man returns the tone, each of them using the hand not wrapped around the girl at their sides to shake fondly. “Bruce. Wonderful of you to join us. I don’t believe I’ve met this young lady before?” Harden turns to face me, and the focus of his company follows. The group surrounding us consists of both men and women, all of them dressed nicely but conservatively. After all, this is more of a business gathering for them than a night out. I return all eight pairs of their eyes, smiling demurely. Bruce glances down at me, then back to Harden, assessing the group of people for himself with a mildly critical glare. “I’m Theodora, Dr. Harden. It’s lovely to meet you.” I greet kindly. Harden nods with a smile nearly as practiced as Bruce’s, and nudges the blue clad girl at his side. “Theodora, this is my wife, Clara.” 

Clara extends her graceful fingers towards me to gently grasp my wrist, a feminine gesture that could be perceived as either friendly or deeply hostile. I decide to not yet impose any judgements and curl my fingers into hers, but neither of our smiles are completely genuine. 

“Come with me, darling. We’ll find our seats while our boys get us our drinks and chat.” Her voice has a slight European edge to it, an accent that I can’t identify. She starts to pull me by the hand, almost intentionally pulling me away from Bruce, which sends me into an internalized panic because it takes me away from the very task that I came here to carry out. Bruce said it himself just today, his board members are not happy with his decision to not invest in the hospital. I imagine that word of Bruce’s intentions has already travelled to Harden’s ears, and I can’t help but worry about the persuasive measures that he would take in order to get his way. 

But as Clara tugs on my arm, Bruce doesn’t hold me back as I know he would if he really thought it wasn’t a good idea. His hand grabs my own before I can completely pull away, though, and he brings the back of it to his lips for a quick kiss. 

“I won’t get you anything too hard, darling.” He promises as a form of a farewell, and suddenly my knees feel like jelly at the endearment. He keeps looking after me, and I after him over my shoulder as I walk away, praying that he will at least make it back to me in one piece. 

“Some boy you’ve got there.” Clara remarks casually. “So I’ve been told.” I banter back. Our hands fall away from one another as we walk into the concert hall, where an usher dressed in a full suit and tie notices us come in. He approaches Clara and I but doesn’t say anything, merely beckoning to Clara to follow. Apparently she’s a regular around here, and a very valued customer. He leads us into an elevator and presses a button once we are both inside, not saying a word to either one of us. It’s strongly unsettling, but Clara fills the space, evidently practiced in small talk. 

“I love your dress, the color is gorgeous on you. I’m sure Bruce got it for you?” I blush and nod. “He did, along with enough of a wardrobe to last me the rest of my life.” It’s an honest admission, more open than I was expecting from myself just a few minutes ago. 

“Honey, it’s all a practice of learning how to say ‘thank you.’ He gets you stuff because he cares about you, plain and simple. Don’t ever feel guilty for him spoiling you.” She reassures, somehow reading between my lines and seeing my exasperation over the extravagance that now constantly surrounds me. 

For a moment, I am grateful for the advice, but then I remember the differences on where Bruce’s money comes from as compared to how Harden’s is made off of the blood of the dying. I look at Clara’s beautiful dress-cerulean blue, form fitted save for the slit in her leg-and think of the chemotherapy treatments that paid for it. 

Clara may not be Harden himself, but she is complicit in his greed. 

This girl is not an active threat, she is a passive one, watching the evil of the world pass by her window and waving it hello. Where the money comes from does not matter to her, what does matter is that the money exists and keeps coming. 

It’s a high price to pay for the cushy lifestyle of one person. I wonder if she knows it. 

The elevator doors slide open once again, and our escort steps out, expecting us to follow. The hallway loops around the inner concert hall, and he steps inside one of the smaller doors where a separate box sits suspended above the rest of the crowd. We are only a little below the sparkle of the massive crystal chandelier that hangs above the stage and branches over the seats on the floor level. None of the musicians are yet on the stage, though their chairs are set up in a precise formation on the wooden floor.

The room itself isn’t enormous, as classical music doesn’t have a huge market in Gotham city. Regardless, nearly every seat is filled or is about to be as people file in, the demographics ranging from middle to upper class. 

The box Clara and I have found ourselves in is the perfect size to accommodate our party, but we are also completely physically detached from anyone else in the room. Above and separated. 

Clara goes to sit in the center of the front row, and I follow suit, leaving a seat by each of us for our corresponding escorts. 

“You’re fairly new to the Bruce Wayne arm candy club. How did the two of you meet?” She asks with the sly undertone of a gossiping teenage girl. I bashfully tuck my hair behind my ear and smile with the wistfulness of a girl under an enchantment. “Oh, you know. Classic workplace romance. I kept getting all these gifts on my desk from a secret admirer, but of course, I never could have guessed who they were from. And now I just feel like the luckiest girl in the world. What about you? Harden’s not a terrible catch himself.” 

The question brings a smirk to her lips. “My sister was one of his patients. Different kind of a workplace romance for me. We met about a year ago. I took some convincing, the age difference was not something I’ve ever been oblivious to. But that man knows how to convince. On every date, he would give me a present. And on the last one, he gave me a ring. The rest is history, I suppose.” 

I keep my thoughts about the shallowness of that relationship to myself, but I don’t hold back from the more sensitive question. “And what happened to your sister?” 

Immediately, her smile wipes away, replaced with something like a deep sorrow. 

“She died. We didn’t catch the cancer early enough and there wasn’t much we could do. She was all I had left, so I’m grateful that Harden was the one… I don’t know where I would be without him.” 

Something catches in my stomach, sadness or shock. I hadn’t expected these enemies to have any dimension other than their stereotypical evil qualities, the greed, the lack of empathy. But in this moment, Clara is filled with so much raw humanity that it changes how I assess her character. 

“Clara, I’m so sorry. You must have loved her very much.” She sighs, but waterily smiles. “I did. Thank you for your kindness, Theodora. I don’t get much of it in my social circles anymore.” 

I almost get the chance to say something about the hospital when Harden and Bruce arrive, each of them carrying a drink in each hand. 

I expect Bruce to lean over and give me a kiss when he sits down next to me, but he barely even glances my way as he hands me a martini glass filled with some mildly spiked punch. I take a sip, enjoying the fruity taste, but lean forward to try and search Bruce’s eyes. Something is wrong, even if he’s resistant to admitting it. He catches my questioning glare and shakes his head in a tiny motion, demanding me to not ask any further until he’s able to tell. I begrudgingly obey, though knowing that something isn’t right keeps me on edge, my eyes looking for enemies in the stands.

Bruce must see my prowling eyes, because he picks up my hand and laces his fingers into mine, my palm feeling a little crushed under the solid pressure of his grip. 

The rest of Harden’s party of colleagues files into the seats behind us. Though I try to convince myself I’m imagining it, I can feel their pointed gazes directed at the back of my skull. 

On the stage beneath us, the musicians begin to file in, picking up their instruments for a final tuning. When the conductor waltzes onto the stage, the audience politely applauds, but Bruce and I do not join in. He is still clutching my hand in a desperate vise. 

As the conductor turns to his symphony and lifts his hand for a last minute tune, I lean back in my seat to cast a sparing glance at Harden sitting just beyond Clara. His face is hardened into a frown, his thick eyebrows knit so close together they almost become one. Though his gaze is intently trained on the stage below, it is clear that his mind is elsewhere. There is something troubling him too, but I can guess much better as to what. Bruce told him no, and he isn’t happy about it. 

That must be what has Bruce so worried. He said no, and Harden threatened him. But as the first lilting notes of the four note theme from the first movement begins, I have to wonder what on earth could have shaken Bruce so badly. What could have shaken  _ Batman _ ? 

Bruce has lost everything time and time again. His childhood innocence, his dignity, his company, his mind. The only thing that hasn’t yet been taken from him is his identity. 

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying out over the sound of the violins. The one thing left that Bruce values in this world is his ability to be the Batman. To be a faceless legend of fear with a goal to whip the sin out of Gotham and replace it with hope. It’s more his life’s ambition than even the company. If Harden knows, and he is trying to dangle it over Bruce’s head, the whole city could be in danger. 

I’m barely hearing the music anymore, the touch of Bruce’s hand is the only sensation keeping me grounded to reality. My mind is racing with plans and strategies, worst and best case scenarios and how to deal with each one, even a half hearted plan to fake Bruce’s death so he doesn’t become trapped. But I know, despite the despair that tells me otherwise, that Bruce wouldn’t go through with any of it. If the Batman is to end at the cost of not complying to the will of a man driven by greed to the detriment of people’s lives, then that’s an honorable way to do it. 

A tear slips out of my eyes, and I wipe it away, pretending the beauty of the music is my reason for crying. But I can’t help but grieve the fall of the Batman before it’s even happened. 

When the symphony ends and the performers on stage takes their final bows, Bruce abruptly stands and tugs my hand along with him. Harden and Clara follow suit, the other woman and I sharing a silent glance, a farewell, a wish for good luck despite the tenuous circumstances. Bruce and Harden stare each other down until Harden holds out his hand towards Bruce. 

“Mr. Wayne, it’s your final chance to reconsider.” Harden suggests, his countenance steady despite the disappointment in his posture. 

Bruce only stares down at the other man’s outstretched hand, and with nothing short of a growl, spits out his final parting remark.

“My father would be disappointed in you.” 

I sense his urgency to leave before he even starts moving, so when he turns on his heel and leads me out of the box, I am there to catch up, looping my arm into his once I am able to walk at his side. 

Neither of us speak, and I can only imagine what we look like. Each of us are fuming with anger, our long legs stalking us through the hallway to the elevator. People see us and clear a path. 

When we enter the elevator, people file in behind us, ruining my chances of attempting to inquire after what in the hell happened and what in the hell we are going to do about it. But Bruce knows that I’m anxious and on edge, so though he can’t console me and though I can’t console him, he whispers the barest instructions to me before the doors close. 

“Alfred is waiting for you. Get in the car, and get changed. You need to disappear.” 

It’s frustratingly vague, the “why” of what he’s telling me to do glaringly missing. But his tone has an urgency and even a fear in it that I dare not oppose, so I just curtly nod and don’t look in his direction. 

The elevator ride is silent, the people around us looking at Bruce and I with wide side eyes. The Prince of Gotham isn’t exactly a quiet presence. 

When we reach the ground floor again and everyone floods out, Bruce squeezes my wrist and nudges me forward. He’s not following me out. There must be fear on my face as I look back at him, placed there by my anxious uncertainty, because he gives me a small smile meant to calm my nerves. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. When he’s in danger, I’m supposed to be there to protect him, though I know he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

The elevator door closes, shutting him away from me, but I remember to not let my composure crack. Right now, I have to find Alfred. 

The lobby area is far more crowded now that everyone is trying to get out, so navigating the crowd is not proving to be easy. Every face is unfamiliar, their eyes scheming, their intentions hostile, even though that’s not really the truth. 

Outside of the building, I feel a little less suffocated, but the rush of people crossing back and forth in a haste to get their cars back from the valet or to call a cab still makes the environment a bit of a scramble. It’s near impossible to pick out the sleek black car we arrived in. A sea of identical ones lies before me, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach I come to terms with the fact that even Alfred’s dutiful nature won’t place me exactly where I need to be. I need to disappear on my own, and that starts with getting rid of this dress. 

I start to head down the sidewalk, weaving through the bustling crowd as I go. My silky skirt is balled up in my hand, enabling me to run faster, but not by much because of my restricting heels. Once the space around me is clear enough, I immediately take them off and carry them by the straps between my fingers, the gritty Gotham concrete scraping my bare feet as I begin to break into a sprint back down the strip. I look at each person I pass, trying to assess their appearances until I spot a girl about my size, headphones in her ears, wearing leggings and a hoodie. She’s the best I can do. 

I run straight for her and grab her by the shoulders, shocking her out of her daze. Her eyes lock onto me as I contort my face into a choked sob, my fingers clawing at her shoulders.

“Please, you have to help me, my ex is after me-and if he finds me he’s going to kill me-he’s crazy but nobody will believe me, please can I have your clothes? You can have this dress, and these heels, and then you can do whatever you want with them, I think you could sell them if you wanted. Just, please. I’m begging you.” 

For a moment, she had looked shocked and a little offended that I was touching her, but as I frantically rambled on, her face softens into a gentle resilience. 

She grabs my hands and squeezes them reassuringly. “Whatever you need. Come on, let’s go in here.” Without hesitation, she pulls me into a restaurant that runs parallel to the sidewalk, each of us slipping by the hostess fast enough that she doesn’t even think to stop us. The girl leads me into the bathroom and immediately removes her hoodie as she enters a smaller stall, closing the door behind her. 

“Get into the one next to me. We can swap over the barriers,” she instructs. I quietly obey her, though I am rather shocked by her willingness to take action for a stranger. 

When I swing the dress over the stall barrier, it slides back down to her side. Followed by her giving me her leggings and hoodie. We don’t have the same shoe size, but I insist that she take my heels to sell them somewhere. I’m comfortable with being barefoot. 

“You look beautiful in that dress.” I quietly compliment, and she gives me a shy smile. 

“I’ve never had one like it before. Though I suppose I should be careful with who sees me in it tonight? Not sure I would want anybody’s crazy ex on my back.”

I nod to confirm her assumption, though I know she is likely in little danger. 

“You look beautiful. I think that dress suits you better than it would have ever suited me.” I quietly compliment. She shrugs a little, but blushes. 

“You go on ahead. I’ll leave a little bit after you. And I’m Mara, by the way.”

I step towards the door, but hold her eyes, genuinely grateful for the help that she has provided. 

“I’m Theodora. Thank you, so much.” I respond as a parting remark. Mara inclines her head towards me. “Nice to meet you, Theodora. Get home safe.” 

Her sincerity almost makes me burst into tears. Gotham is so known for its debauchery that it is easy to forget the goodness of people that somehow perseveres in the midst of the chaos. 

Tonight, I will fight against Gotham’s evil on behalf of Mara’s goodness. 

I just hope I can do it while I’m barefoot.  


	11. Safe

Tonight, the rooftop breeze is cold instead of relaxing. 

It’s not so much of a difference in temperature as it is a contrast in my feelings towards the city. 

I am angry, at Harden, at Earle, for casting aside the goodness of the city in favor of their own self gain. It feels a little hopeless. I am only one masked figure, there is only so much I can fight against. 

In fact, I’m not going to be able to fight against much tonight. Once I calmed down and focused my mind on the task ahead of me instead of getting lost in the whirlwind of panic and worry on Bruce’s behalf, I realized that there isn’t much I can do right now but wait. I don’t actually  _ know  _ what happened between Bruce and Harden. Harden looked just as worried as Bruce, not triumphant. Neither one of them got what they wanted tonight, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to make it all okay again for Bruce’s sake. 

But I can’t, and certainly not tonight. Not barefoot on a rooftop with no armor, no plan, and no sense. 

At the very least, I was able to accomplish what Bruce told me to. I disappeared, despite my inability to locate Alfred. But there’s no telling where he wanted me to go. My only option is to eventually meet up with the both of them back at the house, but there isn’t any telling if that will be safe. I’ll have to be cautious and avoid being obvious. 

My current position in the city is about a mile and a half away from the penthouse, an unfortunate distance when I have to avoid being seen. I start on my way there with a resigned sigh. I’ve never expected this life to be easy. 

Travelling by rooftop is far too dangerous and impractical right now, as all the buildings have a much more impressive height and distance between them than on the first night that the Batman tried to teach me to walk on air. The sidewalk is another option, but then I’m exposed. My only hope is that the alleyways don’t turn out to be too much of a maze. 

The cool metallic prick of the fire escape ladder meets my toes as I cautiously make my way back down, the sight of the ground below me making me grit my teeth. There’s a seven foot break between the end of the ladder and the ground, so I hold onto the last rung in my tightly clenched fist and drop the remaining foot without a sound. 

When I turn around, satisfied with myself for successfully completing the first part of my journey and ready to continue on home, I nearly leap back onto the ladder to escape the dark looming shadow in front of me. 

Of course, after another moment of processing, I remember that I know this shadow well, and I should be very glad to see him. 

It is far too dark to see his face, but when I cross my arms over my chest and give him an expectant glare to start talking, a breathless chuckle emanates from his form. He’s  _ amused,  _ on tonight of all nights, right after he just scared me half to death with the command to run away and not look back. Stubbornly, I’m still unwilling to admit that I know the truth about him. There’s too much fun in relishing the feeling of the unknown upper hand. 

 “Not exactly my usual outfit, I am aware. And welcome to your first good look at this pretty face. It will certainly be your last. I didn’t have much to work with tonight. Don’t worry, I’m not staying out. You’ll be lurking alone tonight.” I put my head down and brush past him, relieved when he doesn’t try to stop me. 

“I could give you a ride.” His gruff voice beckons a beat of silence later, my feet coming to an unwilling halt. 

“You don’t know the way.” I call back without turning around. The hair on the back of my neck raises on end as I feel him silently approach me. It’s only been a couple days since I last saw him, but as I subconsciously lean into his gloved hand on my shoulder, I realize that I  _ missed him.  _

His commanding presence may get on my nerves, but it provides a sense of solid assurance that he outright  _ invites _ me to depend on. With him, there is no shame in needing help, there is only frustration when I do not ask for it. 

“Why are you so insistent on helping me?” I breathe, and the pressure of his hand on my shoulder squeezes in acknowledgement. 

“It’s not because I think you need it. You’ve proved yourself to be capable most of the time. I just want to.” 

“But  _ why _ ? You don’t need me. The bad guys are already running scared of you as it is, Gotham is the best it’s ever been.”

There’s a beat of tense silence as he draws in a pained breath, either at a loss for words or has far too much to say. “Come on.” He commands, not much intensity in his tone. “You have to get home.” He starts to walk away, expecting me to follow without a glance back. With a sigh, I obey, hopping my way around suspicious debris and trash that litters the maze of alleyways. Batman notices that I’m slower, not striding alongside him, and halts in his tracks to check that I’m doing alright. 

“I could carry you.” He suggests, and I chuckle at him until I register his serious tone. He’s watching me, waiting for me to respond with an affirmative or a negative. 

Immediately, I shake my head. “What happened to being ‘capable most of the time?’ I’m fine. How much farther until your ride?” 

He huffs and turns away from me again as if he is offended, which makes me scoff in return.

“What? I’m not a baby. Don’t act like it.” 

He does not respond, which makes me lament a little at the loss of a good banter. 

After a final cautious turn in an area near the docks, Batman turns around and finds my eyes in the darkness. 

“Wait here.” He grumbles, and I sigh and obey, leaning against the plaster wall as he slinks away. 

A moment later, the sound of an engine rumbling to life echoes against the walls, and the headlights of the playfully coined “Bat-mobile” flare to life. Batman may be mythic, but the city’s residents still enjoy poking fun at their local dark angel with little nicknames and endearments. 

The massive vehicle coasts towards me, and I head for the passenger side, trying to hide my amazement that is sure to be amplified in the brights. 

The door opens for me like an old Delorean. It’s futuristic and annoyingly luxurious, but I can’t resist climbing into the seat, ignoring the excessive amounts of buckles in the seat belt and instead observing the array of buttons, none of them labeled but a few of them glowing. 

Once I’m fully inside, Batman reaches over and pushes a glowing button on the console, causing the door to close on its own again. “Nice ride.” I comment breathily, and for a moment I catch Bruce’s sly smile flashing under the Batman’s cowl. 

He gently pulls us out of the tight space, barely tapping the gas. The engine purrs as we pull away, the car a slick extension of Batman himself. “I’m not in the mood for a joyride, so don’t be getting any ideas.” I preemptively scold. I have no desire to be jostled around at a high speed, not even by the hands of a likely very experienced driver. Batman does not react, which I perceive as disappointment. 

The car moves unseen through Gotham’s streets. It boasts no headlights or reflections, the rumbling of its engine the only evidence that it passed through. Batman seems to be following my request for an uneventful ride, because he taps the brakes at every turn and even glances left and right to ensure that we don’t get t-boned. It’s cautiously human, not brazenly arrogant in his ability, and I wonder if he exercises the same caution when he doesn’t have me in the car. I’ve seen helicopter footage of chases that imply otherwise. 

The streetlights filter their lazy warm light through the windows, a pattern that makes me feel drowsy until I realize I never told him where I live, and I jolt myself back into consciousness. What is he planning? He never asked, I never told. There is an assumption underway.

“How do you know where you’re going?” I ask carefully, scared to death that he knows that I know. If it were only my decision, I likely would have ripped off his mask for him already, but my parents’ intense wishes to not completely align myself with him bind my lips closed in a lie. 

He smirks, constantly sly, doing nothing for my heightened heart rate. “You’re in every tabloid on Gotham, sometimes on the cover. I know who you are, and I know what kind of company you keep. Not exactly what I expected, but maybe it was unfair of me to assume.” 

I have to stifle a sigh of relief. “Not any less creepy that you know where Bruce lives.” I mutter. 

“Everyone in Gotham knows where he lives. I am not an exception. He doesn’t keep much of a low profile.” 

I scoff, and the car remains silent for the rest of the ride. He stops a couple blocks away from the apartment, a wise move to avoid too much clear cut association. But the door does not immediately open for me to get out, and the air between us stills in anticipation. 

“I need your help, tomorrow night.” He finally releases, as if it was somehow painful to do. “Something of mine was taken from me. And I need your help to get it back. Meet me in your usual spot, an hour after sunset. Come rested. It might be a long night.” He pushes a button and the door slides upwards once again, permitting me to leave. I do not argue with his request, though it does make me curious and slightly worried. This plan is not something he feels completely capable of handling on his own, which exposes his lack of invincibility. But I do not prod him. It is hard enough to ask for help at all. 

“Thank you for the ride.” I murmur, and slide out of the car without lingering. The door closes, and the looming beast of a vehicle slinks away into the city. 

The walk back to the penthouse feels a bit anticlimactic, though I do try to scramble my route so my destination isn’t obvious to any possible onlooker. The ridges of the fire escape that leads up to Bruce’s room dig into the soft skin of my soles, a strange part of my body to not be calloused and shielded. 

The light flicks on as I slip through the window, and my torso is engulfed in a hug the moment I get back onto my feet. Alfred isn’t the hugging kind, and he certainly isn’t this large, so I settle into Bruce’s embrace, feigning relief that we are both safe. It is strange how quickly he managed to make it back here, but it was foolish of me to doubt the Batman in the first place. 

“Why did you make me leave you? That’s literally the opposite of what I’m supposed to be here for,” I half-heartedly scold him, knowing that I could have stubbornly fought against his will in order to impose my own. It was impossible for me to know what the impending danger was without Bruce directly telling me, so my previous guess of Harden trying to blackmail the Batman was as good as any. 

Bruce sighs and pulls away from me, though he continues to caress my fingers in his grasp. “I know. It was very spur of the moment. Harden threatened to hurt you.” He says it with such nonchalance that it makes me blink. I don’t feel threatened, but it’s still an unsettling thought, to have somebody threaten my safety over a business deal. 

“I can take care of myself. You know that.” I reply, not accusing, just stating facts. 

 “I know, and I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m sure it was an empty threat, but even if it wasn’t, you’re still capable. His reach doesn’t go nearly as far as he made it sound.” He says it with force, and his eyes do not meet my own. He is not trying to comfort me, he is trying to reassure himself. My hands reach for his shoulders and squeeze, shaking him to awareness of my presence because otherwise he’s a terrible listener. 

“Do not feel guilty over sacrificing my safety in order to do the right thing. I am going to be okay.” I bend my knees a little to catch his gaze where its currently staring at the floor, run my thumbs over his biceps. 

His face crumples, vulnerable emotion that I was not expecting suddenly radiating off of his countenance, washing over me, a dam bursting at the seams. It takes me off guard, but I do not wish Bruce to see surprise on my face, so I pull him back into a tight embrace. He reciprocates and  _ holds me _ , his fingers pressing into my shoulder blade and ribs with gasping strength. A strangled sob escapes his throat, and I realize that he had been  _ afraid.  _ Terrified that I was in danger. The Batman tracked me down and took me home all to ensure for himself that I was safe. He may have covered it well, but he risked me making the connection between his two personas by knowing exactly where to drop me off. 

He’s already lost so much that even the  _ thought  _ of losing me is enough to push him over the edge.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, suddenly releasing me with a sniff, about to step away altogether until I grab onto his arms and make him still, his hands resting on my hips, his eyes swollen and uncharming. I have to stare at him for a large beat of silence, my mind contemplating whether or not to validate his fear or comfort him for it. 

“I’m okay.” I end up repeating, my own eyes falling to the floor. “I’m okay.” There’s so much more that I want to say, but the words get caught in my throat. They’ll end up coming out wrong, I’ll say something with the wrong message. I want to tell him that it’s okay to be afraid, but I fear that it won’t deliver the way that I want it to. “And besides,” I add suddenly, looking back up at him as I abruptly step away, “if Harden thought threatening me was a legitimate way to get through to you, then we must be making this pretty believable.” 

Bruce returns a bright smile, though it looks forced through the watery emotion that overlays it. His voice is once again suave when he speaks. “We have the world fooled.” 


End file.
